Simple  Southern  Songs 


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BY 

IDA  CAROLINE  HARRELL  HORNE 


EDITED  BY  HER  SON 
HERMAN  HARRELL  HORNE 


PRIVATELY    PRINTED 
1916 


CONTENTS 


PAGE 

I  FRIENDSHIP  AND  LOVE     ...      9 

II  DAYS  AND  SEASONS    .        .        .        .35 

III  NARRATIVE  AND  OCCASIONAL          .    65 

IV  HOME     .......    95 

V  MORAL  AND  RELIGIOUS    .        .        .125 

VI  IN  MEMORIAM 155 

VII  MISCELLANEOUS          .        .        .        .183 


INTRODUCTION 


The  psychologist  Hoffding  says:  "The 
poetic  form  may  cast  a  light  on  reality 
which  it  does  not  naturally  or  always  pos 
sess,  and  the  dominant  feeling  of  the  poet 
discovers  an  order  of  the  universe  in  which 
his  ideals  find  their  satisfaction." 

In  the  accompanying  poems  this  poetic 
light  is  cast  on  the  great  universal  experi 
ences  of  life,  such  as  friendship,  love,  nature, 
home,  morality,  religion  and  death.  Inter 
preted  through  poetic  sympathy  and  imag 
inative  expression,  these  common  experi 
ences  come  to  have  for  us  uncommon  mean 
ings. 

Poetry  is  the  emotional  interpretation  of 
life.  It  stands  in  greatest  contrast  to  the 
objective  analysis  of  life  provided  by  sci 
ence,  but  is  closely  akin  to  both  philosophy 
and  religion.  Philosophy  is,  or  ought  to  be, 
the  intellectual  interpretation  of  life,  and 
religion  is  our  sense  of  values  as  divine. 
The  content  of  poetry  is  a  kind  of  philoso 
phy  and  the  spirit  of  poetry  is  a  kind  of 
religion.  The  poet  feels  keenly  the  situa 
tions  of  life  and  expresses  his  feeling  in 
fitting  form  of  rhythm  and  rhyme. 


The  reading  of  poetry  refines  feeling  and 
so  assists  in  the  sympathetic  interpretation 
of  life.  We  come  to  see  somewhat  with  the 
poet's  eye  and  hear  with  his  ear.  Thereby 
we  both  enjoy  and  suffer  more.  The  in 
fluence  of  poetry  is  especially  needed  in  a 
materialistic  or  rationalistic  age. 

Wagner  said,  "All  art  is  autobiography." 
In  the  deep  sense  that  we  see  and  express 
what  we  ourselves  already  are,  this  is  true. 
Yet  a  poet  can  sympathetically  speak  for 
another  in  a  wray  that  is  not  strictly  auto 
biographical,  as,  for  instance,  in  the  poem: 
"No  Wine  for  Me,"  p.  129.  The  reader  of 
these  poems  does  not  need  to  be  told  that 
they  were  written  by  a  true  heart  in  the 
midst  of  life's  duties  and  beauties.  He  will 
feel  their  sincerity,  simplicity,  genuineness 
and  unaffectedness.  They  are  the  writer's 
own  life  in  rhyme.  Thus  this  little  collec 
tion  may  come  to  each  recipient  as  a  per 
sonal  message  and  greeting. 

The  content  of  these  poems  is  individual 
rather  than  social,  factual  rather  than 
problematic,  and  optimistic  rather  than 
despairing.  Here  is  art  for  life's  sake, 
not  for  pure  form's  sake.  The  course 
of  Nature  is  what  it  seems  to  be,  and  yields 
us  moral  and  religious  truths,  but  the  hard 
experiences  of  human  life  are  not  final,  be- 
6 


ing  signs  rather  of  a  better  future  state. 
Thus  faith  supplements  knowledge  as  re 
gards  man.  The  blighting  effects  of  real 
religious  doubt  do  not  appear  here. 

Upon  any  objective  criticism  of  the  poetic 
merit  of  these  compositions  I  am  estopped 
from  entering,  both  by  incapacity  and  dis 
inclination.  Others  are  welcome  to  make  it, 
if  they  will;  to  me  they  lie  too  close.  The 
collection  is  made  primarily  from  the  per 
sonal  standpoint,  though  students  of  our 
Southern  literature  and  those  who  await  the 
coming  Renaissance  of  Southern  letters  will 
no  doubt  be  glad  of  this  modest  volume  of 
sincere  verse. 

The  authoress  has  lived  all  her  life  in 
North  Carolina,  most  of  the  time  at  Clayton, 
where  these  poems,  and  many  more  from 
which  these  were  selected,  were  written. 
Their  composition  occurred  mainly  in  the 
third  decade  of  life.  They  were  usually 
printed  under  the  nom-de-plume  of  "Carine," 
and  were  first  published  in  various  State 
papers,  as  The  North  Carolina  Teacher,  The 
Clayton  Bud,  The  Clayton  News,  The  Greens 
boro  Patriot,  The  Twin-City  Daily,  The  Win 
ston  Sentinel,  The  Biblical  Recorder,  The 
Methodist  Advance,  The  Greensboro  Times, 
The  Caucasian,  The  Goldsboro  Sheaf,  and  The 
Winston  Courier. 

7 


The  following  poems  appear  here  for  the 
first  time:  "Our  Martyred  Chief,"  "The 
Exile  of  St.  Helena,"  "Osseo,"  "Blue  Ridge,' 
and  "To  Father  and  Mother." 

Written  in  love,  often  in  the  midst  of  busy 
cares  at  the  suggestion  or  request  of  some 
friends,  they  are  now  sent  forth  in  love, 
with  the  hope  that  they  may  brighten  the 
day  for  the  one  who  reads. 

H.  H.  H. 

September  18,  1915. 


FRIENDSHIP  AND  LOVE 


OTljtlr  tEtjou  &rt  (Erur 


The  world  may  look  in  coldness  now, 

Or  turn  in  scorn  away. 
Yet  while  I  see  thy  cheering  smile, 

My  heart  is  always  gay, 
For  what  to  me  are  brightest  hours, 

Unless  I  see  thee  near? 
1  want  no  sweeter  happiness, 

While  thou  dost  hold  me  dear. 

If  I  can  have  thee  by  my  side, 

And  know  thy  heart  is  true, 
The  cold  and  selfish  ones  may  fr^wr, 

My  heart  finds  rest  with  you. 
1  cannot  fret,  I  cannot  pine, 

While  thou  art  all  my  own, 
For  all  the  joy  the  world  could  give. 

I  find  in  thee  alone. 

Be  true  to  me,  dear  one,  be  true, 

As  long  as  life  shall  last; 
Thy  love  can  light  the  darkest  way, 

And  fairest  radiance  cast. 
One  dear  and  tender  thought  from  thee, 

Is  worth  all  earthly  praise, 
And  while  I  have  thy  faithful  heart, 

My  path  is  bright  always. 

May  9th,   1883. 


1 1 


t\)t  iliiir0  Wttt  in  HBloom 


"When  the  lilies  blossom  white," 

And  the  sweet  spring  days  were  bright, 

With  the  roses'  fairest  bloom; 
Then  the  angels  whispered  low, 
That  our  darling  one  must  go — 

Now  we  weep  o'er  her  silent  tomb. 

Bring  the  lilies  sweet  and  rare, 
To  surround  her  brow  more  fair, 

Than  the  whitest  of  them  all. 
For  her  life  was  pure  and  sweet, 
And  the  lily-bells  are  meet; 

Lp.y  them  gently  now  o'er  the  pall. 

Could  those  blue  eyes  open  now, 
Could  our  little  darling  know, 

How  our  broken  spirits  mourn — 
But  we  would  not  have  her  know, 
We  must  bear  this  bitter  \voe, 

Nor  once  wish  for  her  return. 

Far  beyond  the  cloudless  sky, 
Where  is  never  breathed  a  sigh, 

And  the  cold  frosts  never  fall; — 
Where  the  lilies  bloom  for  aye, 
There  our  darling's  foot-steps  stray, 

She,  our  lily,  the  fairest  of  all. 

When  the  lilies  bloom  again, 
I  shall  feel  each  throb  of  pain, 

Which  so  wrung  my  heart  that  day; 
When  I  saw  her  whit'e  and  cold, 
While  the  broken  lilies  told, 

Of  that  dear,  sweet  life  past  away, 

July   10th,  1884. 

12 


looting 


When  you  and  I,  with  feeble  step, 

And  deeply  furrowed  brow, 
Shall  walk  a-down  life's  rugged  slope, 

Our  hearts  will  beat  as  now. 

Time  cannot  blight  affection's  rose 

Or  chill  the  heart's  warm  tide; 
The  love  which  crowned  our  youth's  bright 
day, 

Forever  will  abide. 

'Tis  many  a  year,  dear  one,  since  we 

First  plighted  love's  fond  vow; 
Sweet  summers  past,  with  bud  and  bloom, 

And  winter's  drifting  snow. 

Yet  still  the  heart's  deep  pulse  will  thrill, 

With  joy,  at  one  sweet  name; 
Tho'  forms  and  faces  change,  the  heart 

Is  ever  more  the  same. 

And  dearest,  'tis  thy  faithful  heart, 

Which  I  have  loved  so  well; 
And  mine  is  bound  to  thine,  with  love's 

Pure  and  immortal  spell. 

November  10th,  1884. 


31n  ail  tbr 


In  all  the  world  there  is  no  face 

So  dear  to  me  as  thine; 
No  heart  so  full  of  happiness, 

As  this  fond  heart  of  mine. 

In  all  the  world,  there  are  no  eyes, 

So  beautiful  to  me; 
As  thine  dear  one,  so  dark  and  deep, 

And  full  of  mystery. 

In  all  the  world,  no  cheek  so  soft 
As  thine,  where  roses  blend 

With  blushes  sweet  and  brilliant  glows, 
And  every  charm  doth  lend. 

In  all  the  world  no  pure  white  brow, 
So  fair  and  smooth  as  thine; 

Nor  raven  tresses  half  so  bright, 
Tho'  gems  amidst  them  shine. 

In  all  the  world  no  form  could  be 

So  full  of  queenly  grace; 
Oh,  all  the  charms  of  every  land, 

I  find  in  thy  sweet  face. 

In  all  the  world  there  could  be  none, 
That  could  compare  to  thee! 

Thou  art  my  spirit's  hope  and  joy, 
The  one  bright  star  for  me. 

December  12th,  1884. 


gou  CBtorr  ^infe  of 


When  your  heart  is  straying  backward, 

By  the  shore  of  Memory; 
And  you  sigh  o'er  fair  hours  faded — 

Do  you  ever  think  of  me? 

When  dear  friends  speak  words  of  gladness, 
And  their  voices  charm  thine  car — 

Do  you  listen  for  the  echoes, 
Of  a  voice  you  may  not  hear? 

When  life  pours  its  richest  treasures, 

With  a  lavish  hand,  for  thee — 
Do  you  think  of  one  life,  fated 

For  a  sadder  destiny? 

Or  when  Grief  with  brooding  pinion, 
Hovers  o'er  the  gate  of  light — 

Do  you  think  of  one  who  loves  thee, 
Even  in  the  deepest  night? 

Is  there  e'er  a  note  of  sadness, 

Which  you  hear  with  tear-dimmed  eyes — 
In  the  soft  and  subtle  music 

Of  life's  mystic  harmonies? 

O  I  ask  for  you  heaven's  blessings, 

Now  and  ever,  full  and  free, 
And  my  cup  will  have  its  sweetness, 

If  you  sometimes  think  of  me. 

March  20th,  1885. 


a 


May  your  heart  be  free  from  sorrow, 
Every  hour  some  pleasure  bring; 

May  a  kind  fate,  smiling  ever, 
O'er  your  life  no  shadow  fling. 

May  fair  flowers  surround  your  pathway, 
Blooming  sweetly  to  the  close; 

Sunny  skies  and  balmy  weather, 
Tint  life's  day  with  brightest  rose. 

May  hope's  every  shining  vision 

Prove  realities,  for  you; 
And  wrarm  hearts  give  you  affection, 

Faithful,  pure,  and  ever  true. 

May  8th,  1885. 


[6 


j^ebermore 


Thou  art  with  me,  loved  and  lost  one, 
Through  the  long  and  dreary  hours, 

And  a  vision  ever  cheers  me 

Bright  as  summer's  fairest  flowers. 

Eyes  that  beamed  with  joy  and  gladness 

On  me  in  the  days  of  yore, 
Shining  through  the  falling  darkness, 

Thrill  me  sweetly  as  before. 

In  fond  dreams  her  spirit  whispers, 

Of  a  precious,  by-gone  day, 
But  I  \vake  to  weep  in  sorrow, 

For  a  bright  and  vanished  ray. 

In  the  soft  hour  of  the  gloaming, 
When  the  shades  so  lightly  fall — 

In  my  grief  I  sit  and  listen, 
As  the  bells  of  mem'ry  call. 

And  a  voice  than  music  sweeter, 

With  its  thrilling  melody, 
Breathing  of  dear  hopes  now  shattered, 

Speaks  again  fond  words  to  me. 

But  I  miss  the  clinging  fingers 

Of  a  hand  within  mine  own; 
When  I  reach  to  clasp  her  closely, 

Ah,  I  am  alone,  alone! 

September  27th,  1885. 


Good-night,     darling;     may     bright     angels 

guard  thee, 
Through  the  dreamy  hours  that  bring  thee 

rest; 
May  their  soft  white  wings  so  close  enfold 

thee 

That  no  troubled  thought  can  reach  thy 
breast. 

May  no  sharp  thorn  rob  thy  downy  pillow, 
Of  the  sweet  repose  thy  head  shall  find; 

May  thy  warm  bright  cheek  be  fanned  by 

zephyrs, 
Soft  as  voices  of  the  southern  wind. 

May  the  gentle  spirits  who  watch  o'er  thee, 

Keeping  thee  in  sweet  security- 
Bending  low,  in  tender  whispers  murmur 
To  thy  dreaming  heart  one  thought  of  me. 

October  26th,  1885. 


1 8 


Spirit  Linger*  j^rar 


No  more  upon  the  earth  her  form  will  greet 

me — 
No    more    her    lovely    eyes    will    look    in 

mine; 

But  'round  me  breathes  her  sweet  and  gen 
tle  spirit, 
And  in  my  heart  her  face  will  ever  shine. 

1   seem  to  hear  her  speak  my  name  in  ac 
cents 

Of  tender  love,  as  in  the  days  gone  by, 
And  when  I  sit  and  dream  of  her  for  hours, 
I  know  her  form   comes  flitting  from  the 
sky. 

1  cannot  see  it  with  my  mortal  vision, 

But  in  my  soul,  I  kno\v  she  comes  to  me 

On  wings  of  love,  and  in  that  holy  presence 
No  thoughts  can  live  save  those  of  purity. 

And  when  in  times  of  trial  and  temptation, 
It  seems  the  evil  angel  will  subdue — 

1  breathe  her  name,  and  'round  me  steals  an 

influence, 
Which  leads  me  ever  to  the  good  and  true. 

December  30th,  1885. 


10 


H5r0t  for 


'Tis  best  for  you,  my  darling, 
That  we  should  part  this  way; 

But  ah,  for  me  the  yearning  pain 
Of  many  a  weary  day. 

'Tis  best  for  you,  oh  loved  one, 

For  you  are  happy  now, 
And  I  should  smile  to  think  no  shade 

Doth  rest  upon  that  brow. 

For  if  I  could  have  kept  you 

Forever  at  my  side, 
You  must  have  felt  the  woes  and  griefs, 

Which  warmest  hearts  betide. 

But  now  1  know  your  spirit 

Is  free  as  birds  of  spring; 
And  I  will  try  to  teach  my  own 

To  bear  its  suffering. 

To  bear  without  complaining, 
The  loss  which  gives  you  joy; 

But  dreams  of  vanished  hours  will  come, 
My  sad  thoughts  to  employ. 

I  miss  thee,  oh  I  miss  thee! 

And  must  forever  more 
Regret  the  joys  which  once  were  mine, 

And  nothing  can  restore! 

January  23rd,  1886. 


ClnOrr  ttjr 


Softly  the  snowflakes  are  falling  around  me, 
Silently  covering  valley  and  hill; 

Tenderly  kissing  the  mound  which  is  hiding 
One  who  is  sleeping  so  peacefully  still. 

Under  the  snow — never  dreaming  of  sorrow; 
Pain  cannot  reach  her  beneath  the  white 

drifts. 

Thoughts  of  her  happiness  lighten  my  sad 
ness, 

Piercing   the    clouds   with    their   beautiful 
rifts. 

But  I  remember  with  many  a  heartache, 
Every   dear   charm    of   that    sweet    lovely 

face; 
Under   the   snow   rests    the   form    that   hath 

thrilled  me 

With  its  proud  bearing,  and  soft-winning 
grace. 

Under    the    snow    lie    the    hopes    that    were 

dearest; 

But  we  must  finish  the  journey  below, 
Though  every  joy  we  have  cherished  is  be 
hind, 
Under  the  drifts  of  the  beautiful  snow. 

February  9th,  1886. 


21 


I  look  a-down  the  vista 

Of  years  that  live  no  more, 

And  see  thy  smile  as  pure  and  bright, 
And  tender  as  of  yore. 

I  hear  thy  kind  words  falling 

In  music  on  mine  ear, 
And  dream  those  happy  days  return, 

When  thou  wast  ever  near. 

With  pleasure  1  remember, 
Each  hour  I  spent  with  thee; 

For  you  were  ever  fond  and  true, 
And  faithful  unto  me. 

No  bitter  word  was  spoken, 
To  wound  my  loving  heart; 

And  never  one  cold  glance  from  thee, 
To  cause  a  cruel  smart. 

To  me  you  were  the  dearest, 
And  sweetest  friend  of  all; 

And  oh,  believe  me  still  the  same, 
Though  joy  or  grief  befall. 

However  dark  the  hour, 

Or  bright  with  golden  sheen — 

No  power  can  divide  our  hearts 
Or  shadow  steal  between. 

'Tis  true  that  we  are  parted, 
Yet  still  our  souls  are  one; 

E'en  though  I  see  thy  face  no  more, 
Nor  hear  thy  gentle  tone. 


Beyond  the  orient,  shining, 

I  see  a  golden  star, 
And  lift  my  eyes  above  the  gloom, 

To  greet  its  rays  afar. 

And  if  the  hour  should  linger, 
And  hope's  fruition  fail — 

That  star  will  ever  brightly  gleam 
Though  other  splendors  pale. 

And  while  I  know  you  love  me, 
Though  land  and  sea  divide — 

I  would  not  give  the  joy  I  hold, 
For  all  the  world  beside. 

May  1st,  1886. 


23 


H5ontf  apart 


On  the  billows  of  life's  ocean, 
We  are  drifting  day  by  day; 

With  a  sure  and  constant  motion, 
Toward  the  harbor  far  away. 

Once  our  barques  sailed  on  together, 
Side  by  side — o'er  sun-kissed  wave; 

It  was  fair  and  summer  weather, 
And  the  skies  sweet  promise  gave. 

But  the  winds  of  fate  o'ertook  us, 
In  the  morning  of  life's  day; 

And  Hope's  silver  star  forsook  us, 
On  the  dark  and  stormy  way. 

And  the  rude  waves  rose,  dividing 
Two  frail  barques,  almost  awreck. 

And  the  tempest's  breath  outriding, 
Each  appears  a  tiny  speck. 

Ah,  the  tranquil  days  are  over, 
When  we  drifted  side  by  side; 

And  in  sorrow  we  discover 
Rough  and  angry  seas  divide. 

But  afar,  we  see  the  gleaming, 
Of  a  fair  and  beauteous  land; 

There  where  Day  is  ever  beaming, 
We  shall  wander  hand  in  hand. 

June  17,  1886. 


24 


of  ilong 


There's  ever  a  sigh  in  the  soft  autumn  wind, 
That  touches  the  heart  with  its  sadness; 

Yet  still  there  awakens  a  thrill  that  is  sweet, 
Though  mingled  with  grief  and  with  glad 
ness. 

The  voice  of  the  wind  seems  to  say  o'er  and 

o'er: 

"Farewell  to  the  pleasant  day  flying; 
The    bright,    bonnie    season    of    summer    is 

gone, 
And  all  the  fair  flowers  are  dying." 

But    all    the   drear    seasons    that    linger   be 
tween 

Can  never  shut  out  the  loved  faces 
Of  dear  ones  that  gladdened  life's  beautiful 

spring; 
They  shine  in  the  old  hallowed  places. 

And    all    the   bright   hours   may   die   in   their 

bloom, 

And  leave  life  a  desert  of  sorrow- 
Vet  fond  hearts  will  live  o'er  the  joys  of  the 

past, 
And  hope  for  a  sunny  to-morrow. 

"Farewell,"  on   the  air — in  the  light — in  the 
heart, 

And  we  think  of  the  loved  and  the  lost; 
Rut  still  in  the  spirit  a  memory  lives, 

Unblighted  by  time's  chilling  frosl. 

September  25th,  1886. 


31 


I  would  not  live  again  the  vanished  hours 
Which  once  across  my  path  such  radiance 
threw; 

I  would  not,  if  I  could,  recall  the  season 
Which  glided  by  so  pleasantly  with  you. 

]  would  not  hear  again  the  vows  of  friend 
ship, 
Which  once  you  breathed  into  my  willing 

ear; 

Or  see  the  fervent  glance  of  sweet  affection, 
From  eyes  that  spoke  to  mine  a  language 
dear. 

No;  for  I  see  thee  now  with  clearer  vision. 
And  know  thy  heart  was  never  pure  and 

true; 

Else  had  I   ne'er  withdrawn  the  trust  con 
fiding, 

Which   once   I   gave,  so  full  and  free,   to 
you. 

I  would  not  even  hold,  within  my  spirit, 
The  dream,  so  beautiful  in  days  of  yore; 

Lest    rudely    waking,    once   more    I    should 

find  thee, 
As  fickle  and  as  faithless  as  before. 

Another  lesson  added  to  the  many 

Life    holds    for   us,   before   we    learn    our 

way: 
The    frankest    face    may    hide    a    heart    the 

foulest, 

And   friends   who   truest   seem,   may   first 
betray. 

December  llth,  1886. 

26 


31t  ait  Come*  Bacb 


It  all  comes  back  to  me  tonight, 

The  golden  glory  of  the  past; 
Days  gilded  with  a  tender  light, 

Too  beautiful  to  last. 

Thy  form  in  all  its  witching  grace, 

Glides  softly  through  the  rosy  dream; 

And  every  feature  of  thy  face 
Is  clear  as  daylight's  beam. 

The  fire  upon  the  hearth  burns  low, 
And  I  with  fixed  and  earnest  gaze, 

See  in  the  bright  red  coals  that  glow, 
The  scenes  of  other  days. 

The  music  of  a  voice  long  flown, 
Melts  on  the  stillness  of  the  hour; 

The  words  you  spoke  in  gentle  tone, 
Thrill  me  with  magic  power. 

Dream  on  fond  heart — hold  close  the  spell 
Which  stirs  thy  pulses  with  delight; 

Forget  the  long  and  sad  farewell, 
Which  left  thy  path  in  night. 

December  31st,  1886. 


Come 


Come  in  the  beautiful  summer, 

When  blossoms  are  bright  on  the  tree, 
And  soft  is  the  sigh  of  the  zephyr — 

Ah,  glad  will  1  welcome  thee. 

Come  in  the  gloomiest  season, 
When  dim  is  the  light  of  the  sky, 

And  blighted  the  fields  and  the  flowers — 
I'll  welcome  thee  joyously. 

At  morn's  rosy  beam  or  at  noonday, 
Or  with  the  sweet  stars  of  the  even, 

You  come;  it  will  gladden  my  spirit, 
As  beautiful  dreams  of  heaven. 

May  9th,  1887. 


be 


I  try  to  live  in  future  hours, 

Forgetting  these  that  be; 
So  wearily  the  days  drag  by, 

While  I  am  far  from  thee. 

I  try  to  think  a  sunny  day 

Will  surely  dawn  for  me, 
When  I,  in  perfect  joy,  shall  rest 

My  happy  eyes  on  thee. 

I  try  to  keep  a  brave,  strong  heart 
Through  these  sweet  days  of  June, 

For  something  seems  to  whisper  low, 
"Cheer  up,  it  may  be  soon." 

June  9th,  1887. 


CoUJ? 


Why  cold  to  me?     My  warm,  true  heart 
Throbs  with  its  every  pulse  for  thee; 

And  yet  it  seems  a  waste  of  love, 
For  thou  art  cold  to  me. 

Why  changed?    Canst  thou  forget  so  soon 
The  vows  you  spoke  with  earnest  breath? 

You  said  your  heart  and  soul  were  mine, 
Till  life  should  end  in  death. 

But  now  thy  cold  and  altered  glance, 
Falls  on  my  heart  with  heavy  pain; 

O  let  me  see  one  look  of  love 
In  thy  sweet  eyes  again. 


SDO  31  Care? 


What  do  I  care,  that  his  false  heart  beats 

No  more  for  me; 
And  not  one  sigh  will  I  breathe  for  his 

Inconstancy. 

\Yhat  do  I  care,  that  his  changing  smile 

Doth  wander  oft; 
Are  there  not  other  smiles  as  bright, 

And  words  as  soft? 

What  do  I  care,  that  his  accents  fond, 

I  hear  no  more; 
They  could  not  hold  my  heart  in  thrall, 

As  once  before. 

What  do  I  care,  that  the  magic  spell 

Is  broken  now; 
Or  that  his  fickle  heart  forgets 

Each  fervent  vow. 

For  since  the  mask  has  fallen  off 

From  his  false  face — 
I  look  on  him  and  strive  in  vain 

Some  charm  to  trace. 

The  dream  is  past,  and  with  no  sigh 

I  see  it  go; 
Nor  feel  one  shadow  of  regret 

That  it  is  so. 


If  all  the  world  should  sound  my  praise 
And  think  me  good  and  great, 

And  thou  wert  cold — all  else  would  fail 
My  spirit  to  elate. 

And  if  all  other  voices  blamed 
While  thou  alone  wert  kind — 

I'd  live  for  one  dear  word  from  thee, 
Nor  other  voices  mind. 

If  all  the  hearts  of  all  the  world 
Would  shut  me  from  their  love, 

And  thou  shouldst  hold  me  dear,  no  pain 
My  happy  heart  could  move. 

Thy  heart  is  the  proud  throne  I'd  choose 
Of  all  earth's  kingdoms  grand; 

Its  love  would  be  far  richer  wealth, 
Than  gold  or  diamond  strand. 


v 


Bells 


Sweet  memory  bells!  sweet  memory  bells! 

Ring-  out  your  silvery  bells  to-night; 
And  while  your  soft,  sweet  music  swells, 

There  comes  a  vision  fair  and  bright. 
I  live  again  mid  happy  hours, 

Bright  hours,  that  blest  the  years  agone; 
Life's  joyous  spring,  with  fairest  flowers, 

And  brilliant  dreams,  before  me  shone. 

Sweet  memory  bells!  so  soft  and  low, 

Each  note  rings  out  some  tender  thought; 
Some  joy  I  never  more  may  know, 

By  memory  bells,  in  music  brought. 
Along  the  track  of  wasted  years, 

These     low,     sweet     tones,     bring     back 

youth's  JO3'S, 
And  in  each  chime,  the  heart  still  hears, 

The  melody  of  some  loved  voice. 

Dear  friends,  that  seemed  a  part  of  life, 

So  well  beloved  in  days  of  old, 
Have  fled  amidst  the  toil  and  strife, 

And  left  a  sadness  all  untold. 
In  girlhood's  bright  and  joyous  days, 

When  life  knew  not  a  shade  of  care, 
I  wandered  where  the  wild  birds'  lays 

Made  glad  each  breath  of  balmy  air. 

One  well  beloved,  walked  at  my  side, 
A  friend  I  loved  with  perfect  trust; 

We  vowed,  that  whatsoe'er  betide, 

Our  love  should  last,  'till  hearts  were  dust. 


33 


We  rambled  in  the  bright  spring  weather, 
Where  grew  the  long  ferns  in  the  shade, 

Across  the  fields  of  blooming  heather, 
And  where  the  silver  streamlet  played. 

We  watched  the  golden  sunset  linger, 

Around  the  hills  at  eventide, 
When  from  the  West,  some  angel  finger, 

Flings  out  bright  rays  of  glory  wide. 
We  dreamed  our  dreams  of  life  together; 

We  talked  of  love,  and  light,  and  fame, 
And  vowed  that  naught  should  ever  wither, 

Our  friendships  pure  and  holy  flame. 

Sweet  friends,   the  years  have   brought   their 
changes; 

I  hear  no  more  your  songs  at  eve, 
But  still  to  you  my  fancy  ranges, 

And  for  your  loss,  1  still  would  grieve. 
I  can't  forget  your  auburn  tresses, 

And  soft  brown  eyes,  with  tender  light, 
Your  songs  so  sweet;  and  memory  blesses, 

Those  happy  years,  so  purely  bright. 

Sweet  memory  bells!   sweet  memory  bells! 

My  heart  wraits  for  each  thrilling  tone, 
Each  note  in  sweetest  music  tells 

Of  light  and  joy,  forever  flown. 
And  when  the  evening  shades  surround  me 

And  twilight  breathes  a  mystic  spell. 
Those  bells  bring  other  scenes  around  me, 

And  weave  a  charm  I  cannot  tell. 


34 


II 

DAYS  AND  SEASONS 


(Etje  gear  10  before 


By    the    memory    of    failures    which    have 

blotted 

The  record  now  unfolded  to  our  view, 
Of  days  that  floated  on  time's  rolling  river — 
Let   us,    with   praying   hearts,    now    start 
anew. 

By  the  sad  regret  which  stings  our  troubled 

conscience, 
To  look  back  o'er  the  snares  in  which  we 

fell— 
We  should  be  now  a  thousand  times  more 

careful, 

To  try  and  guard  our  words  and  actions 
well. 

While  the  year  is  stretching  fair  and  bright 

before  us, 

Let  each  one  ask  a  special  share  of  grace 
To  conquer  in  the  strife,  and  at  the  closing, 
With    peaceful     hearts,    its    victories    to 
trace. 


is  Coming 


Daisies  in  the  dell 

Lift  their  starry  eyes; 
Sweetest  zephyrs  tell, 

With  their  gentle  sighs, 
Spring  is  on  her  way; 

Let  the  words  repeat! 
All  the  balmy  day, 

Breathes  the  message  sweet. 
Sing,  oh,  birdie,  sing! 

Let  your  heart  be  glad, 
While  your  carols  ring. 

Can  our  thoughts  be  sad? 
All  the  woods  rejoice, 

Buds  begin  to  swell, 
Daisies  love  thy  voice, 

In  the  ferny  dell. 
Streamlet,  wake  thy  sleep, 

From  the  icy  hand, 
Glide  with  music  deep, 

O'er  the  shining  sand; 
Winter's  reign  is  past, 

Lift  your  voice  in  glee, 
Dancing,  rippling  fast, 

Singing  merrily. 
Mosses  soft  and  green, 

To  the  gray  rocks  cling, 
Everywhere  is  seen 

Promises  of  spring. 
Winter  cannot  last 

Longer  than  its  day; 
Sorrow  soon  is  past, 

Grief  will  flee  away. 

38 


All  things  in  their  time, 

Is  the  rule  of  life. 
And  this  little  rhyme, 

Falls  amid  the  strife. 
Weep  not  o'er  thy  fate, 

Tho'  it  may  be  dark, 
It  is  ne'er  too  late 

For  the  gleaming  spark. 
As  the  winter  goes, 

And  the  spring  returns, 
So  our  earthly  woes 

Fall  in  silent  urns. 
Sorrow  cannot  last; 

Let  the  words  remain, 
Winter  soon  is  past, 

Spring  will  come  again. 

February  21st,  1884. 


Breatl)  of 


Winter's  rain  is  almost  over, 

With  its  cold  and  piercing  blast, 

And  the  flowers  will  soon  discover 
They  may  lift  their  heads  at  last. 

Spring  with  gentle  touch  is  coming, 
To  awaken  them  from  their  sleep; 

And  the  little  birds  are  humming, 
Softly  in  the  woodland  deep. 

Wind  and  rain  and  stormy  weather, 
Brought  a  long  and  chilling  gloom; 

Now  all  hearts  rejoice  together, 

For  the  sweet  spring's  budding  bloom. 

Wintry  skies  have  hid  the  sunlight, 

With  a  dull  and  leaden  grey; 
And  the  dim  sad  days  seemed  one  night — 

Moon  and  stars  withheld  their  ray. 

But  to-day  the  sun  is  beaming, 

W7ith  a  radiant  smile  for  all, 
And  the  earth  awakes  from  dreaming, 

Answering  to  Nature's  call. 

Would  we  prize  the  light  and  sweetness, 

If  they  never  pass  away? 
No — it  is  their  very  fleetness, 

Which  enhances  while  they  stay. 

So  the  Father  in  his  kindness 

Through  these  things  would  lessons  tell; 
And  we  feel  e'en  in  our  blindness, 

That  He  governs  wise  and  well. 

March  16th,  1885. 

40 


of  Hoses 


Nature  wears  her  brightest  smile, 

All  the  day  is  golden; 
Down  beside  the  rustic  stile, 

Breathes  the  story  olden. 

Thro'  the  cool  and-  shady  lane, 
Young  hearts  gladly  wander, 

Whispering  their  love  again, 
And  their  blisses  ponder. 

Happy  birds  in  fragrant  bowers, 

Sing  love's  joy  forever, 
And  the  many  tinted  flowers, 

Bid  us  thank  the  Giver. 

Roses,  yellow,  white  and  red, 
Scent  the  air  with  sweetness, 

While  each  fair  and  regal  head, 
Charms  us  to  completeness. 

Which  is  fairest,  sweetest,  best, 
We  could  ne'er  determine; 

For  we  love  each  waxen  crest — 
White,  or  brilliant  carmine. 

June,  the  empress  of  the  year, 
Holds  her  court  in  splendor; 

And  her  lovely  subjects  bear 
Joy  to  spirits  tender. 

But  methinks  no  heart  could  feel, 

Careless  at  this  season; 
O'er  the  soul  a  spell  will  steal, 

Touching  sense  and  reason. 


And  it  seems  a  crime  to  me, 
'Gainst  the  heavenly  powers, 

Not  to  prize  the  wealth  we  see, 
In  the  beauteous  flowers. 

June  5th,  1885. 


31une 


Far  o'er  the  hills  the  golden  grain 
Is  falling  'neath  the  reaper's  blade; 

The  merry  harvest  time  again, 

Brings  joy  to  every  nook  and  glade. 

The  earth  awakes  with  one  full  voice, 
And  smiles  beneath  the  sun's  bright  ray. 

From  morn  to  eve  the  birds  rejoice, 
And  charm  our  hearts  with  blithesome  lay. 

Sweet  summer!  beautiful!  divine! 

Breathes  on  our  hearts  a  magic  spell, 
And  like  intoxicating  wine, 

She  fires  the  pulse  to  fiercer  swell. 

The  fairest  month  of  summer  time, 
The  sweetest  days  are  those  of  June! 

The  nights  are  perfect;  how  we  love, 
To  watch  the  stars  and  quiet  moon. 

The  dreary  days  are  far  away, 

We  gaze  into  these  deep  blue  skies, 

And  dream  of  heaven's  perfect  Day, 
Where  happy  summer  never  dies. 

June  18th,  1884. 

42 


The  weary  day  is  over, 
Its  toil  and  care  are  past; 

The  twilight  hour  approacheth, 
And  we  may  rest  at  last. 

The  southern  breezes  murmur, 
And  cool  the  burning  cheek, 

Their  odors  sweetly  linger, 
While  we  its  blessings  seek. 

We  watch  the  shadows  gather, 
Around  the  hill  and  vale; 

And  hear  the  gentle  vesper, 
Sung  by  the  nightingale. 

The  pale  moon  floods  the  valley, 
With  rays  of  silver  light; 

The  gems  of  evening  glitter, 
Above  the  peaceful  night. 

How  sweet  the  twilight  hour! 

How  dear  the  calm  repose! 
While  pearly  dew  drops  tremble, 

Upon  the  dreamy  rose. 

The  soft  delicious  evening, 
We  love  its  blissful  rest; 

When  tired  hands  are  folded, 
Above  the  quiet  breast. 

Lie  down,  poor  heart,  and  slumber, 
Thy  toilsome  work  is  o'er; 

And  dream  of  rest  eternal, 
Upon  the  golden  shore. 

July  1st,  1883. 

43 


Come  with  me,  love,  where  breathe  the  gar 
den  flowers 
Their    fragrant    sighs    upon    the    tender 

night; 
And  we  will  watch  the  stars  peep  from  the 

curtain, 
Which  hides  day's  clearer  light. 

O,    sweet    the    soft,    still    shadows    of    the 

evening, 
And    calm     the    holy     hour    of    pleasant 

dreams, 
With  thy  warm  glance  and  dear,  loved  face 

before  me, 
Life's  pathway  golden  seems. 

The  daylight  dies;  but  through  the  western 

portal 

The  after  glow  still  lingers  faintly  yet 
To   greet   the   night,   and   as   the   last  rays 

vanish, 
There  seems  a  soft  regret. 

But  night  is  fair,  and  as  the  eve  advances 
Its  charms  allure  the  heart  from  daylight's 

care, 
Come,  love,  with  me  among  the  groves  and 

flowers, 
Where  joy  floats  on  the  air. 


44 


Summer  10  j 


The  warm  bright  days  of  summer  time 

Will  soon  have  past  away; 
We  watch  the  soft  and  mellow  lights 

That  linger  'round  each  day. 

How  many  a  heart,  in  after  years, 

With  fond  regretful  sigh, 
Will  turn  from  lonely  cheerless  hours, 

To  these  fair  days  gone  by? 

Then  let  the  joy  of  each  bright  hour, 

Be  all  in  all  to  thee, 
Nor  watch  and  wait  for  pleasures  far, 

Beyond  a  trackless  sea. 

Fair  summer  days,  too  quickly  fled, 
The    sweetness   and    the   light, 

Are  fading  from  the  earth  and  sky. 
Like  some  loved  vision  bright. 

\Ye  watch  the  lights  and  shadows  come, 

And  love  each  tender  hour; 
The  butterfly  and  drowsy  bee, 

Caress  each  drooping  flower. 

While   bidding   them   a   long   farewell, 

We  loathe  to  see  them  fade; 
But  ah!   too  soon   their  fairy  forms, 

Will  pass   from   wood  and  glade. 

The  little  birds  'mid  changing  leaves, 
\Vith  saddest  sweetest  song, 

Would  chant  one  last  and  dear  refrain, 
And  summer's  joys  prolong. 

45 


Each  day  is  warmer,  brighter  still, 

And  charms  the  hill  and  dell, 
Fair  Summer  while  she  leaves  us  breathes 

A  passionate  farewell. 

These  days  so  pure  and  fair  will  live 

In  some  true  heart  for  aye, 
And  tho'  the  mists  and  clouds  may  rise, 

They'll  bless  ONE  summer  day. 

Farewell,  sweet  summer,  must  it  be? 

Ah,  then,  a  long  farewell, 
And  when  the  days  are  sad  and  drear, 

Our  hearts  will  bless  THY  spell. 

We  never  know  life's  dearest  joys, 

'Till  they  are  cold  and  dead 
Nor  prize  our  loved  ones  half  so  well, 

As  when  their  forms  have  fled. 

August  24,  1883. 


46 


There's    a    sigh    in    the    wind    as    it    sweeps 
along, 

Through  the  heavy  shaded  bough, 
But  the  summer  bowers  will  soon  be  bare, 

For  the  leaves  are  turning  now. 

There's  a  sigh  in  the  wind  as  it  wooes  the 
rose 

For  its  fragrant  breath  once  more, 
Ere  the  autumn's  chilling  blast  shall  blight 

The  beauty  which  she  wore. 

There's  a  gentle  sigh  in  the  moaning  wind 

That  echoes  in  each  heart; 
For  Summer  plumes  her  lovely  wings, 

And  soon  she  will  depart. 

There's  a  low,  sad  sigh  in  the  wind  to-day, 
That  recalls  a  voice  long  flown; 

And  its  music  thrills  on  my  list'ning  ear, 
With  each  breath  of  the  wind's  soft  tone. 


Beautiful 


Beautiful  days  of  the  years  long  departed, 
Ever  your  memory  awakens  regret; 

When  the  sad  winds  of  the  autumn  pass  by 

me, 
Whispers  a  dear  voice  I  ne'er  can  forget. 

When    purple   tints   make   the   air   soft   and 

hazy, 

When  the  sky  glows  writh  a  beautiful  blue, 
When  a  loved  face  beams  amid  the  gold 

glory, 

With   earnest   eyes   that  were   lovely   and 
true. 

When  the  sun  shines  with  a  light  deep  and 

mellow, 
Breathing  a  spell  that  is  both  sweet  and 

sad; 

Once  more  I  see  the  dear  smiles  that  de 
lighted, 

Thrilling  a  heart  which  was  thankful  and 
glad. 

Come  back,  sweet  years,  for  my  spirit  is 
lonely, 

Sadly  I  sigh  for  one  taste  of  lost  bliss; 
Why  did  ye  vanish  so  quickly,  and  leave  me 

Only  the  memory  of  love's  tender  kiss. 

Hands  that  caressed  me  are  cold  now,  and 
folded 

Over  the  bosom  which  once  beat  for  me; 
Lips  that  returned  warmest  kisses,  can  never 

Utter  my  name  in  love's  low  melody. 

48 


Days  of  the  past,  lost  and  faded  forever, 
Come  with  sweet  visions  and  memories  to 

me; 
Once  more  I  live  o'er  dear  hours  that  are 

buried 
'Mid  the  wild  waves  of  life's  dark  rolling 


Over  the  tide,  in  that  beautiful  Haven, 
I  shall  reclaim  all  the  joys  I  have  lost, 

Purer  and  sweeter  they  wait  for  me  yonder, 
\Yhere  I  shall  sing  with  the  glorified  host. 

October  10th,  1884. 


r. 


of  autumn 


Bleak  and  cold  the  wind  is  blowing; 

Steady  drops  the  dreary  rain, 
And  wre  look  from  out  the  window 

For  some  little  cheer  in  vain. 

Moaning  wrinds  that  seem  to  murmur 
Of  a  summer  late  entombed; 

And  the  weeping  rain  is  falling 

For  the  flowers  that  sweetly  bloomed. 

Nature  mourns  her  faded  brightness, 

With  a  wail  of  bitter  woe; 
But  we  know  when  winds  are  balmy 

Violets  again  shall  blow. 

Soon  the  melancholy  hours 

With  their  dark  and  heavy  wing, 

Will  be  numbered  with  the  faded, 
Wrhile  we  welcome  back  the  spring. 

How  the  heart  will  prize  the  coming 
Of  the  sweet  and  sunny  hours, 

After  dreary  days  are  ended, 

And  we  greet  the  op'ning  flowers. 

\Vhen  life  flows  with  even  current, 
And  the  sky  is  bright  and  fair — 

Scarcely  e'er  a  thought  of  dying 
Comes  to  claim  our  smallest  care. 

But  in  days  of  grief  and  sadness, 
When  no  ray  of  hope  appears — 

WTeary  spirits,  lift  their  vision, 

For  the  light  ne'er  dimmed  by  tears. 

50 


tZTtjr  Autumn  OTooD 


In  the  quiet  autumn  wood, 

While  the  low  winds  steal  along, 
'Xeath  the  drooping  boughs  I  stood, 

Listening  to  the  brooklet's  song. 
Sadder  than  the  last  farewell, 

Of  loved  ones  who  meet  no  more, 
Was  the  story  it  would  tell, 

As  it  murmured  o'er  and  o'er. 

Why  the  sigh  of  untold  \voe, 

In  the  autumn's  faintest  breath? 
For  the  golden  days,  we  know, 

Smile  o'er  summer's  silent  death, 
Now  the  leaves  are  turning  fast, 

Soon  they'll  lie  'neath  winter's  snow, 
For  no  earthly  joy  can  last, 

Tho'  we  weep  to  see  them  go. 

But  the  drowsy  autumn  air, 

Wraps  the  spirit  in  bright  dreams, 
And  the  earth  is  passing  fair, 

With  the  sunlight's  softest  gleams, 
Tho'  I  hear  the  brook  and  wind, 

Whisper  o'er  and  o'er  good-bye, 
Still  their  grief  I  do  not  mind, 

For  another  joy  is  nigh. 


3finDian  Rummer 


Fairest  flush  of  dewy  spring  time, 
Of  the  rosy  summer's  glow, 

Charms  not  as  these  autumn  hours, 
Which  a  subtle  spell  do  throw. 

Quiet,  dreamy,  golden  hours, 

Sometimes  soft  with  purple  haze; 

Paler  skies  than  June  would  gather 
Round  the  gay  and  festive  days. 

But  the  fleecy  clouds  are  drifting 
O'er  the  calm,  blue  deep  above, 

Beautiful  as  white-winged  vessel, 
Bringing  home  the  one  we  love. 

On  the  bright  hill-slope  we  linger, 
Where  the  golden  rod  is  seen; 

And  each  brilliant  blossom  greets  us, 
With  a  crown  of  burnished  sheen. 

And  the  gorgeous  tinted  flowers, 

Waving  in  the  balmy  air, 
Star  our  pathway  with  bright  faces, 

Till  the  frost  shall  strip  them  bare. 

From  the  portals  of  the  sunset, 
Where  the  dying  splendors  fade, 

Oft  we  seem  to  glimpse  the  beauty 
Of  the  gates  writh  gems  inlaid. 

And  the  stillness  of  the  hour, 

WThen  the  gloaming  turns  to  night, 

Is  as  peaceful  as  our  dreaming 
Of  "that  land  of  pure  delight." 

October  llth,  1886. 
52 


In    all    the    bright    land    of    the    fair    sunny 

South, 

Or  far  away  clime  of  the  North — 
There   is    not   one   home   but   hath   many   a 

cause 

In  praises  and  thanks  to  break  forth. 
We  look  back  across  the  swift  track  of  the 

year, 

That  past  since  last  Thanksgiving  day, 
And  see  how  God's  mercies  have  wrapt  us 

about, 

Providing  our  needs  by  the  way. 
The  fire  crackles  merrily  on  the  hearthstone 

In  many  a  snug  little  home, 
And  hearts  that  have  waited  and  longed  for 

the  hour, 

Are  watching  for  loved  ones  to  come. 
The    dainties    heaped    up    on    the    plentiful 

board 

Speak  loudly  of  feasting  in  store, 
When  all  the  long  absent  ones  mingle  again, 

Within  the  dear  old  homestead's  door. 
And  when  the  fond  circle  is  once  more  com 
plete, 

What  joy  fills  the  spirit  of  all! 
And  happy  the  chatter  which  flashes  around, 

While  gladness  the  hour  doth  befall. 
But  ah,  if  thus  be  one  beloved  image  missed, 

And  vacant  the  seat  at  the  board, 
How   tender   and    soft    do    we    whisper   her 

name, 
Who  ne'er  will  to  us  be  restored. 

53 


But  still  her  sweet  presence  is  nearer  to  all, 

Than  those  smiling  faces  around, 
While  in  every  heart  speaks  the  voice  that 

is  still; 

We  hear  it  above  mirth's  gay  sound. 
And  yet  may  we  whisper  our  praises  to  Him, 

Who  gave  her  a  happier  lot, 
Than  earth's  brightest  highway  to  pleasure 

and  fame — 

An  Eden  of  love,  changing  not. 
In  seasons  of  joy  when  with  fervent  delight, 

We  drink  from  the  fountain  of  bliss 
For  one  perfect  moment,  we  think  that  up 

there, 

Her  joy  is  far  sweeter  than  this. 
And  in  the  proud  zenith  of  hope's  shining 

day, 

Or  ever  wre  dream  of  its  close, 
The    storm    crested    cloud    steals    the    light 

from  the  sky, 

Leaves  black  where  the  color  was  rose; 
When  raven-winged  sorrow  the  portals  ob 
scure, 

Where  once  streamed  a  glory  of  light, 
We   bless   the    Death   angel   who   bore   her 

away, 

Where  day  is  eternally  bright. 
Thanksgiving!    Ah,    yes;    I    had    well    nigh 

forgot, 

To  mingle  my  voice  with  the  rest, 
Though  having  the  gifts  from  a  bountiful 

hand — 

My  portion  a  thousand  fold  blest. 

In  warfare,  in  danger,  in  ordeals  fierce 

As  the  fires  of  a  merciless  stake; 

54 


His    strength   hath    sustained   me   and   kept 

me  secure, 

And  saved  me  for  Jesus'  dear  sake. 
When  in  some  wild  moment   I   craved   the 

desire, 

Which  filled  a  poor  weak  human  heart, 
I  thank  Thee,  my  Father,  while  holding  it 

back, 

Thou  showdst  me  a  far  better  part. 
And    whether    of    sunshine    or    shadow    the 

hour — 

Life's  \vine,  for  me,  bitter  or  sweet — 
If  thou  hold  the  cup  I  will  drink  from  Thy 

Hand, 

While  praises  I  breathe  at  Thy  feet. 
And  oh,  Gracious  Father,  my  soul  boweth 

low, 

Before  the  full  tide  of  Thy  love! 
And  words  I  would  utter  fall  back  on  my 

heart, 

While  mute  lips  still  silently  move. 
But   Thou    Who   canst   read   every   impulse 

that  swells, 

In  this  proud,  happy  bosom  to-day — 
Wilt   see    the    glad    fountain    which    freshens 

the  flowers, 

That  spring  into  bloom  by  the  way. 
A  life  that  is  blended  so  close  within  mine, 

That  grief  cannot  touch  him  alone — 
The  nearest  and  dearest — the  one  best  be 
loved, 

My  one  precious  treasure — my  son. 
Ah,    surely,    a    fond    mother's    heart    never 

thrilled, 
With  holier  pleasure  than  mine, 

55 


When  in  his  young  bosom  was  kindled  the 

flame, 

That  caught  from  Thy  favor  divine. 
And  through  the  brief  years  of  his  life  I 

have  asked 

His  dear  childish  feet  might  be  led 
By  Jesus  Who  loved  little  ones  long  ago, 
And    breathed    blessings    on    each   bright 

head. 

Not  quite   twelve  fair  summers  have   scat 
tered  their  flowers, 
Along  the  short  path  he  hath  trod, 
And  now  in  the  fresh,  tender  years  of  his* 

youth, 
He  gives  that  dear  heart  unto  God. 

And  when  from  my  side  he  must  seek  in 
the  world 

The  place  he  is  destined  to  fill — 
The  armor  and  shield  of  the  Lord  will  re 
main 

To  save  him  from  life's  direst  ill. 
Thanksgiving!  O,  shout  it  in  clarion  notes, 

Far  over  the  land  and  the  sea; 
In  gladness,  in  sorrow,  in  joy,  and  in  pain, 

"His  mercy  endureth  for  me!" 

November  15th.  1886. 


Christmas 


The  merry,  merry  days  are  come, 
The  gayest,  brightest  of  the  year; 

When  every  heart  thrills  with  a  chord 
Responsive  to  the  season's  cheer. 

Above  the  winter  wind  I  hear 

The  voice  of  mirth  and  maddest  glee; 

And  e'en  the  wind  seems  kinder  now 
To  touch  the  bare  and  barren  tree. 

The  sky,  which  might  at  other  times, 
Seem  dreary  with  its  leaden  hue, 

And  falling  rain — is  still  the  sky 

Of  Christmas  Eve,  though  gray  or  blue. 

And  every  heart  must  own  the  spell 

Of  "Peace  on  earth,  and  sweet  good  will"; 

The  evening  shadows  softer  creep 
Upon  the  field  and  distant  hill. 

Ah,  happy,  happy  Christmas  Eve! 

And  while  my  heart  is  full  and  glad, 
I  would  that  none  to-day  might  be 

For  e'en  one  moment,  lone  or  sad. 

May  friends  long  parted  meet  again, 
And  hearts  estranged  be  reconciled; 

Love's  fervor  warm  the  chilling  glance 
Of  eyes  that  once  in  kindness  smiled. 

O  may  each  bosom  beat  as  mine — 
With  happiness,  to  think  of  bliss 

For  me,  when  soon,  ah  soon  I'll  greet 
A  loved  one  with  affection's  kiss. 

December  24th,  1887. 
57 


The  merry  days  will  soon  be  here, 

The  happy  Christmas-tide, 
And  while  we  revel  in  its  joys, 

Let  peace  and  love  abide; 
All  should  be  full  of  light  and  life, 

And  hearts  should  happy  be, 
While  meeting  with  the  little  ones, 

Around  the  Christmas  tree. 
Methinks  that  when  our  childhood  days 

Give  place  to  riper  years, 
The  brightest,  freshest  happiness, 

Fades  in  the  mist  of  tears; 
The  cares  of  life  so  softly  rest 

Upon  the  children's  hearts, 
A  little  thing  will  give  them  joy, 

While  sorrow  soon  departs. 
Tho'  many  years  have  past  away, 

I  mind  one  Christinas  eve, 
When  I  a  little  girl  of  seven, 

Such  fancies  bright  did  weave 
Of  Santa  Claus'  abundant  store, 

And  would  he  think  of  me? 
I  tossed  upon  my  little  couch, 

In  wild  expectancy. 
The  cruel  strife  of  bloody  war, 

Was  sweeping  o'er  our  land, 
The  pretty  toys  wTere  very  scarce, 

And  dolls  were  in  demand. 
My  childish  heart  knew  but  one  wish, 

Of  course  it  was  a  dolly, 
To  look  back  now  how  strange  it  seems, 

Indeed,  it  was  all  folly. 

58 


But  then,  a  child's  great  happiness, 

Is  made  of  simple  things, 
And  it  should  make  our  spirits  glad, 

That  sorrow  o'er  them  flings 
So  light  a  weight;  I  got  my  doll, 

And  never  can  forget 
How  beautiful  she  seemed  to  me, 

Her  dear  face  haunts  me  yet. 
A  rag  doll — oh,  I  hear  you  laugh, 

But  never  mind  it  now, 
For  that  sweet  time  is  far  away, 

The  years  sleep  'neath  the  snow. 
O  let  us  make  the  little  ones 

To  feel  a  joy  and  glee, 
That  sheds  a  light  and  peace  around, 

And  gloom  and  care  will  flee. 
But  let  us  not  forget  the  poor, 

Who  scarcely  can  buy  bread; 
And  while  we  see  our  lavish  boards, 

W7ith  costly  dainties  spread; 
O  may  we  still  remember  now 

God's  poor,  who  fill  the  land, 
And  of  our  feast,  give  them  a  part, 

Stretch  forth  the  helping  hand. 
Perhaps  in  some  lone  dwelling  place, 

\Vhere  Poverty  stalks  grim, 
A  mother  weeps  in  sadness, 

And  wildly  prays  to  Him 
Who  promises  to  answer 

The  cry  of  anguished  hearts — 
For  means  to  feed  her  darlings, — 

That  prayer  a  peace  imparts. 
And  God  speaks  to  our  spirits, 

To  help  those  in  distress, 


And  while  we  give  to  others, 
Our  own  hearts  He  will  bless. 

O,  let  the  earth  in  gladness 
Pour  forth  its  voice  of  praise, 

For  Christ  our  precious  Saviour, 
The  King  of  Christmas  days. 


60 


What  shall  I  give  you,  darling, 
To  prove  my  love  unchanged; 

A  token  from  a  heart  that  ne'er 
From  thine  can  be  estranged? 

A  Christmas  gift  for  you,  dear, 

Should  rare  and  lovely  be; 
From  all  the  bright  and  dazzling  store, 

I'd  choose,  ah,  carefully. 

I  have  no  jewel  brilliant, 

Or  gift  of  gleaming  gold; 
But  the  heart  I  gave  you  long  ago, 

Is  faithful  as  of  old. 

So  this  is  the  gift,  my  darling; 

And  do  I  judge  aright, 
To  think  you  prize  it  even  more, 

Than  gems  of  flashing  light? 

I  wish  you  a  happy  Christmas, 

A  bright  and  merry  day, 
And  joys  that  bless  the  festive  hours, 

With  pure  and  shining  ray. 

A  happy  Christmas,  darling, 

A  heart  from  sorrow  free, 
And  mine,  in  every  joy  I  share, 

Will  fondly  think  of  thee. 

December  21st,  1886. 


61 


The    cold    winds     sweep    thro'     the    bare 

branches, 
And    brown    leaves    He    heaped    on    the 

ground; 

The  pale  gray  sky  dims  the  sun's  brightness, 
And  snow  clouds  lie  banked  all  around. 

But  still  tho'  the  pleasures  of  Summer 
Have  fled  with  the  months  that  are  gone, 

There's  a  charm  in  the  cold  days  of  Winter, 
We  feel  at  this  season  alone. 

The  red  berries  glow  in  the  brown  wood, 
And  sparkle  with  beautiful  hue, 

The  dark  evergreens  on  the  hillside, 
Still  gladden  the  cold,  silent  view. 

All  Nature  at  rest  from  her  labors, 

Seems  wrapped  in  a  sweet  dreamy  sleep; 

The  streamlet's  low  song  thrills  the  heart- 
pulse, 
With  memories  the  soul  loves  to  keep. 

How  pleasant  the  long  Winter  evenings 
To  sit  by  the  bright  glowing  hearth, 

And  read,  while  the  cold  hours  creep  on 
ward, 
And  soft  falls  the  white  robe  of  earth. 

The  brightness  and  warmth  of  our  chamber 
Is  dear  for  the  contrast  outside, 

And  voices  that  come  in  the  storm-wind, 
Recall  some  beloved  eventide, 

62 


When  friends  that  we  cherish,  ah  dearly, 
Would   meet   with   us   round   the   hearth 
stone, 

Their  faces  come  back  in  the  silence, 
They  speak  in  the  wind's  moaning  tone. 

We  watch  the  red  coals  gleaming  brightly, 
And  see  forms  we  loved  long  ago; 

They  rise  up  before  our  glad  vision, 
And  smile  in  the  fire's  ruddy  glow. 

O  sing  the  loved  songs  of  the  past-time, 
I  long  for  sweet  music  to-night; 

And  while  the  winds  sob  in  the  darkness, 
We'll  bask  in  a  warm  joyous  light. 

And  tho'  Winter  reigns  on  the  mountain, 
And  chills  every  valley  and  plain, 

'Tis  Summer  always  to  the  warm  heart, 
And  sorrow  hath  chilled  it  in  vain. 


Ill 

NARRATIVE  AND  OCCASIONAL 


Host  ^Letter 


The  mellow  tints  of  autumn  lay 
Upon  the  changing  robe  of  earth, 

And  song-birds  in  their  carols  trilled 
A  minor  strain  through  all  their  mirth. 

The  fields  were  fading  fast,  and  far 
Across  the  meadows  fell  the  shade, 

As  slowly  through  the  pleasant  grass, 
A  youth  and  maiden   fondly  strayed. 

She  who  had  trod  that  path  full  oft, 
Through  all  the  years  she  could  recall, 

Ne'er  felt  its  subtle  charm  before 
So  tenderly  her  heart  enthrall. 

And  he,  whose  feet  had  roamed  the  climes 
Beyond  the  sea  of  storied  fame, 

Still  thought  no  land  had  been  so  fair, 
As  this,  where  first  he  felt  love's  flame. 

The  quiet  village  held  him  long 

Beyond  what  he  had  thought  to  stay; 

He  saw  her  face,  and  sunlight  seemed 
To  flood  his  path  with  golden  ray. 

How  swift  the  summer  days  had  fled! 

How  soft  and  sweet  the  summer  hours, 
When  with  her  willing  hand  in  his, 

They  roamed  amid  the  groves  and  flowers. 

They  paused  beside  the  rustic  stile, 
In  her  dark  eyes  he  read  her  heart, 

And  she  within  her  woman's  soul 

Felt  first  love's  keen  and  cruel  smart. 

67 


How  brief  and  blissful  was  that  dream 
From  which  her  happy  heart  awoke; 

Stunned  and  distressed,  she  scarcely  heard 
The  parting  words  he  fondly  spoke. 

"To-morrow  I  must  leave  you,  dear, 
This  eve  we  part;  look  not  so  sad, 

Sweetheart,  for  I  will  write  to  you." 
She  strove  to  speak  in  tones  as  glad. 

Somehow  he  could  not  frame  the  words 
That  trembled  on  his  lips  that  night, 

But  ere  a  day  had  passed  he  wrote 
The  letter  that  would  make  it  right. 

He  told  her  in  a  manly  way 

Of  what  her  love  could  be  to  him, 

And  if  that  precious  prize  were  given, 
Life's  glory  never  could  grow  dim. 

And  if  his  fond,  sweet  hope  might  live, 
And  he  return  ere  spring  had  come, 

To  claim  her  for  his  wife,  one  word 

From     her    would    bid    that    dear    hope 
bloom. 

The  letter  never  met  her  eye; 

Like  many  more  it  went  astray; 
And  she  was  left,  her  load  of  grief 

To  bear  through  many  a  weary  day. 

He  thought  she  did  not  care  for  him, 
And  tried  to  crush  that  yearning  love 

That  filled  his  heart,  and  life,  and  brain, 
The    more    when    'gainst    its    power    he 
strove. 

68 


And  thus  two  fond  true  hearts  were  tried 
And  wrung  with  bitter  doubts  and  fears; 

She  hid  her  sorrow,  but  no  more 

Love  touched  her  heart  through  long,  sad 

years. 

On  life's  wide  sea,  these  two  were  borne 

Apart;  nor  either  could  forget 
One  golden  summer  of  the  past, 

Whose  radiance  could  never  set. 

A  dear  and  well  remembered  face 

Deep  in  each  heart  shut  out  the  thought 

Of  other  love;  and  looking  back, 

Lost    hopes     with    joy     and     pain    were 
fraught. 


Again  they  meet;  and  years  have  flown; 

They  stand  within  the  crowded  hall; 
He  late  returned  from  distant  lands, 

Beholds  her  now,  the  queen  of  all. 

The  village  maid  was  not  so  fair, 
As  this  sweet  woman  by  his  side; 

One  glance  in  her  soft  eyes  awoke 
Regret  that  ever  must  abide. 

And  she  beheld  him  still  the  same, 
Except  perhaps  more  noble  grown, 

And  browned  by  tropic  suns  that  brow 
Where  silver  'midst  the  dark  hair  shone. 

And  is  it  strange  these  two  should  find 
A  sheltered  nook  from  all  apart, 

And  once  again  each  pulse  should  glow 
With  thrilling  mem'ries  of  the  heart? 

69 


And  he  whose  proud  soul  scorned  to  stoop 
And  ask  for  her  dear  love  again 

When  once  he  had  been  turned  away — 
Still  felt  his  warm  blood  throb  with  pain. 

"I  am  so  pleased  to  see  you  back," 
She  could  not  keep  the  wrords  unsaid; 

But  while  he  stern  and  silent  stood, 
Half  timidly  she  raised  her  head. 

"I  think  we'd  better  go,"  she  said, 
"Not  yet,"  he  spoke  in  husky  tone; 

"My  letter — tell  me  why  you  wrote 
No  answer  to  my  pleading  one?" 

"Your  letter!     It  has  never  come 
To  me!"  and  in  her  truthful  eyes 

He  read  it  all;  and  she  could  see 
In  his  the  pitiful  surprise. 

"O  lost  and  happy  years,"  he  cried, 

"That  should  have  been  so  purely  blest!" 

Yet  still  he  could  not  grieve  for  long, 
With  that  dear  head  upon  his  breast. 


70 


il  of  t\)t  Serpent 


Respectfully   Dedicated    to  Clayton    Lodge 
No.  33,  I.  O.  Q.  T. 


In  our  land  of  bloom  and  beauty, 

Where  the  fairest  flowers  blow, 
Where  the  song-birds  in  the  woodland 

Seem  no  sorrow  e'er  to  know; 
Where  the  peaceful  hamlets  slumber, 

'Afid  the  hills  we  love  so  well, 
And  the  streamlets  softly  murmur, 

Through  the  sweetly  scented  dell; 
W'here  at  eve,  the  sunset  golden 

Flashes  forth  such  beauties  rare, 
That  the  artist  and  the  poet 

Could  not  dream  of  land  more  fair; 
Where  the  gentle  maiden  lingers, 

By  the  old  gate,  down  the  lane, 
Waiting  for  the  blissful  moment, 

When  she  greets  her  love  again; 
WThere  our  mother,  Nature,  gives  us, 

Every  joy  we  fain  would  know, 
Is  there  aught  to  cause  us  sorrow, 

Or  to  whisper  tales  of  woe? 
But,  alas!  for  outward  beauty, 

When  the  heart  with  grief  is  full, 
When  a  shadow  on  our  hearthstone, 

Makes  our  spirits  dark  and  dull; 
What  is  there  to  mar  our  pleasure — 

Cause  us  nights  of  weeping  spent, 
Take  our  hearts  best  treasures  from  us, 

Leave  our  bosoms  torn  and  rent? 


'Tis  a  Monster,  frightful,  fearful, 

Creeping  o'er  the  land  we  love, 
With  its  fangs,  we  know,  so  deadly, 

Leaving  woe  where  it  doth  rove. 
None  are  safe  from  the  destroyer; 

None  may  know  the  anguish  wild, 
That  this  crawling  fiend  may  cost  them, 

Through  a  father,  brother,  child. 
Could  the  low  winds,  as  they  pass  us, 

All  their  tales  of  sorrow  tell, 
Of  the  hearts  left  torn  and  bleeding, 

By  this  demon,  dark  and  fell; 
Could  we  see  the  woe  and  anguish, 

Left  behind  his  fatal  track, 
All  the  happy  homes  left  blighted, 

Would  we  e'er  in  courage  lack? 
But  we  know,  full  well,  his  power; 

See  him  almost  at  our  door; 
Feel  his  withering  breath  beside  us; 

Need  we  go  "from  shore  to  shore"? 
We  have  seen  the  true  and  noble, 

When  he  stings,  grow  sick  and  fall; 
Seen  them  strive  to  rise,  but  yielding, 

He  would  have  them,  after  all. 
We  have  seen  our  own  dear  loved  ones, 

Writhing  in  his  fatal  grasp, 
Seen  him  laugh,  and  mock  our  anguish, 

While  he'd  draw  the  deathly  clasp; 
Seen  him  seize  the  fairest  flowers; 

Seen  him  drink  the  heart's  best  blood, 
And  the  widow  and  the  orphan, 

Welt'ring  in  a  crimson  flood. 
We  have  known  the  bright  and  lovely, 

Of  our  land,  fall  in  his  power; 
And  beheld  him,  coming  onward, 

Making  dark  the  brightest  hour. 
72 


Oh,  how  long,  I  say,  my  brothers; 

Sisters,  too,  I  ask,  how  long 
Shall  we  know  this  giant  evil, 

Sung  in  story  and  in  song; 
And  mourn  o'er  the  devastation 

Left  us  by  the  demon  bold, 
Weeping  o'er  the  dear  ones,  fallen, 

And  our  hands  still  idly  fold? 
See  the  happy  homes  left  darkened — 

See  him  gloating  o'er  the  spoil — 
See  his  head  held  high,  exultant — 

See  him  in  his  fatal  coil. 
We  have  seen  the  best  and  brightest, 

Lying  low  with  want  and  pain; 
Seen  hope's  sweetest  blossoms  wither, 

Ne'er  to  bloom  for  them  again! 
Arise!  arise!  and  onward,  brothers; 

Sisters,  lend  a  helping  hand; 
Let  us  slay  the  fearful  monster; 

Let  us  save  our  stricken  land, 
E'er  the  darksome  night  of  sorrow, 

Close  around  us  while  we  wait, 
And  o'er  tombs  of  lost  and  loved  ones, 

We  shall  weep,  alas,  too  late. 
Let  us  rise  in  might  and  power; 

Buckle  on  our  sword  and  shield; 
Onward!  forward!  to  the  rescue 

Of  the  dying  on  the  field! 
But  why  stay  to  raise  the  fallen? 

Why  the  erring  ones  to  chide? 
Stay  to  soothe  the  smitten  victims, 

And  still  let  the  serpent  glide ? 
Let  us  hasten  to  the  battle; 

Ask  for  guidance  from  on  high, 

73 


For  our  Father  will  assist  us, 
When  He  hears  our  earnest  cry. 

WTe  are  ready  for  the  warfare; 
Let  us  love  God's  holy  laws; 

Crush  the  hated  liquor  traffic — 

Speed  the  glorious  Temperance  Cause. 


Chief 


The  song-bird  of  the  sunny  South 
Chants  forth  a  dirge  of  sad  refrain, 

And  every  heart  is  bowed  with  woe, 
For  thee,  our  mighty  Chieftain,  slain! 

The  moaning  winds  of  autumn  time 
Breathe  out  a  bitter,  wailing  cry; 

And  e'en  the  sunlight  falls  in  gloom, 
Since  thou  in  marble  state  doth  lie. 

O  grand  and  good!  O  pure  and  true, 

O  kingly  type  of  all  the  best! 
Thy  steady  hand,  so  firm  and  strong, 

Didst  give  Columbia's  lofty  crest. 

Our  noble  ship  of  state,  with  thee 
To  guide  her  over  roughest  wave, 

Hath  safely  made  the  proudest  ports, 

Thou    her    brave    crew    didst    shield    and 
save. 

O  not  to-day,  or  yesterday, 

Or  days  to  come,  saw  or  will  see, 

Thy  peer  in  matchless  character, 
Supreme  in  all  integrity! 

O  ruler  of  our  loyal  hearts, 

We  can  but  weep — we  will — we  must, 
To  see  thy  gracious  form  laid  low, 

And  mingled  with  the  common  dust. 


McKinley 


Or  e'er  our  Father  didst  decree 

That  them  shouldst  lay  thine  armor  down, 
O  fell  and  bloody  deed  that  gave 

Thy  princely  head  the  martyr's  crown! 

O  cruel  hand  which  smote  the  blow, 
That  tore  a  million  hearts  in  twain! 

And  ne'er  for  thee  shall  sorrow  cease, 

While  southern  suns  shall  wax  and  wane. 

Thy  name  in  all  the  days  to  come 
Shall  shine  in  hearts  that  hold  thee  dear; 

For  her,  who  saddest  tears  doth  weep, 
We  plead  our  God's  protecting"  care. 

Our  grief,  which  words  refuse  to  tell, 
And  e'en  the  bravest  heart  unmans, 

Is  softened  by  the  precious  boon 
Of  sympathy  from  other  lands. 

We  thank  our  friends  beyond  the  seas, 
Our  brothers  in  this  hour  of  woe; 

Their  prayer  we  need,  their  help  we  prize, 
While  crushed  beneath  this  heavy  blow. 

May  God  have  pity  on  our  land, 
Whose  colors  trail  upon  the  earth! 

For  darker  day  hath  never  been, 

Since  Thou  didst  give  our  nation  birth! 


-» 


Cfriir  of  g>t,  Helena 


Far  out  on  the  brow  of  the  tropical  sea, 
There  stands  a  lone  isle  looking  out  frown- 

ingly; 
Its   grey  mountains   rise   from   the   wave   to 

the  sky, 
And  its  rock-girdled  shore  greets  the  sailor's 

keen  eye. 

A  ship  gliding  o'er  the  dark  waters  so  blue, 
Is  bound  for  that  harbor,  her  path  straight 

and  true; 

A  proud  monarch  gazes  far  over  the  foam, 
On  that  rock  in  the  ocean  which  now  is  his 

home. 

O  who  shall  relate  the  fierce  storm  in  that 

breast, 

Of  wildest  emotions  which  never  can  rest! 
His  power  is  departed,  his  glory  is  shorn; 
A  captive  in  bonds  to  that  island  he's  borne. 

Fair    France,    well    beloved    of    Napoleon's 

best  years, 
Can     you     dwell     on     his     sorrows     without 

bloody  tears? 
Can  you  think  of  his  greatness,  his  power, 

his  pride, 
And  leave  him  to  fret  out  his  life  o'er  the 

tide? 

O,    Frenchman,    subdued,    in    this    hour    of 

distress, 
Weep,    weep    for   your    king,    for    you    need 

not  repress 

77 


The  pain  in  your  heart  or  the  tear  in  your 

eye, 
While   the  bravest   of  heroes  is  left  there 

to  die. 

Yet  still,  though  he  dwells  on  that  isle  of 

the  sea, 
His  name  thrills  the  world  with  a  strange 

witchery. 
The   nations   of   earth   will    remember   that 

name, 
While    the    ocean,    the    rocks    and    the   hills 

are  the  same. 

The  bitter  years  passed  in  their  wearisome 
way; 

The  Emp'ror  still  guarded  by  night  and  by 
day, 

Looks  out  from  the  heights  of  that  storm- 
beaten  shore, 

And  dreams  of  that  land  he  shall  see  riever- 


Away,  far  away  o'er  the  deep  surging  sea, 
Those  dim,  tired  eyes  looking  out  longingly, 
Oh,  God,  can  it  be  that  no  rescue  will  come, 
Is    this    burning    rock    the    great    warrior's 
home? 

The  days  wear  away  and  the  long  months 
creep  by; 

The  dark  hills  look  out  o'er  the  waves  si 
lently. 

Napoleon,  still  caged  in  that  jail  of  the  sea, 

Is  fretting  uncared  for  and  droops  day  by 
day. 

78 


That  proud  spirit  broken,  that  heart  in  des 
pair, 

While  the  murmuring  billows  fling  back  his 

wild  prayer; 
He   thinks    of   those   years,    oh,   so   brilliant 

and  grand, 
And  he  the  bright  star  which  illumined  the 

land; 

The  high  and  the  noble,  from  countries  afar, 
Bowed  low  at  his  shrine;  in  the  annals  of 
war 

That   name   shone   in   glory,   so   far  and   so 

wide, 
Men   breathed  it   with   reverence,   with  joy 

and  with  pride! 

But  now,  ah,  how  changed!     And  he  beat 

on  his  breast, 
Where   the   fangs   of   disease    tore   his    soul 

with  unrest. 

A  torture  was  tearing  his  vitals  away; 
Life's  hopes  had  departed,  and  now  he  could 

pray 

For  the   mercy   of   Heaven;   at   last  it  had 
come; 

That  great  heart  found  rest  in  its  lone  ocean 
home. 

They  laid  him  to  sleep  by  the  side  of  the 

sea, 
Though  he  begged  that  his  grave  in  his  own 

land  might  be. 

Long  years  passed  away  e're  his  foes  did 

relent, 
Their  wrath  had  subsided,  their  vengeance 

was  spent; 

79 


His  ashes  were  borne  to  the  land  that  he 

loved; 
They  rest  by  the   Seine,   and   will  ne'er  be 

removed. 

Napoleon,  thy  sorrows  endear  thee  to  all; 
We   rejoice  at  thy  greatness,  we  weep  for 

thy  fall; 
And  still  on  the  isle,  and  the  sea,  and  the 

shore, 
That  name,  proud   and  fearless,  will   shine 

evermore! 


8c 


&fter  Ctonup  gears? — Si 


He  held  her  closely  to  his  heart; 

"Dear  wife,"  he  said,  "farewell; 
'Tis  sad  to  leave  you,  dearest  one, 

This  sorrow  none  can  tell." 

"But  can  I  keep  my  place  at  home, 
While  comrades  swell  the  throng, 

Who  fight  for  home  and  liberty, 
With  valiant  hearts,  and  strong?" 

"No,  let  me  die,  if  needs  must  be, 
For  this  our  Southern  Land; 

My  heart  is  panting-  for  the  strife, 
And  with  the  brave  I'll  stand." 

One  fond  embrace  as  close  as  death, 

Her  heart  is  breaking  now, 
"O,  shall  we  meet  again?"  she  cries, 

With  pale  and  anguished  brow. 

"Yes,  when  this  dark  and  bloody  strife 
Is  o'er,  and  peace  has  come, 

I  will  return  to  you,  my  own, 
And  this,  our  happy  home." 

A  hurried  kiss,  a  wailing  cry, 

He  tears  himself  away; 
The  memory  of  that  parting  hour 

Haunts  her  for  many  a  day. 

The  long  and  weary  months  creep  by, 

No  tidings  tell  his  fate; 
"'O,  if  he  lives  he  will  return, 

For  him  I  watch  and  wait." 


81 


That  faithful  wife,  as  years  would  pass, 

Wept  o'er  his  long  delay; 
The  war  had  ended  long  ago, 

Yet  still  he  is  away. 

"I  know  he's  dead;  it  must  be  so; 

But  when  and  where  he  died 
I  fain  would  know;  I'd  find  his  grave, 

And  kneel  down  by  his  side." 

For  twenty  weary  years,  and  more, 

She  lived  in  doubt  and  fear, 
The  days  could  bring  no  joy  to  her. 

The  hours  were  sad  and  drear. 

And  when  they  brought  our  soldiers  home, 

From  Arlington's  lone  height, 
This  sad-eyed  woman's  heart  was  stirred, 

And  thrilled  thro'  sorrow's  blight. 

She  sent  the  fairest  freshest  flowers, 

In  memory  of  that  name, 
And  with  the  crowds  who  sought  the  spot, 

This  gentle  woman  came. 

She  stands  beside  a  casket  now, 

To  read  the  names  outside, 
"Ah,  what  is  this?    Tis  he!  'tis  he!" 

In  joy  and  grief  she  cried. 

"My  husband,  is  it  thus  we  meet? 

But  oh,  thank  God,  thank  God, 
Your  precious  ashes  now  shall  rest 

Beneath  our  own  loved  sod." 

She  blessed  the  day,  she  praised  the  hour, 
That  brought  him  home  once  more; 

And  while  she  weeps  her  heart  finds  rest 
It  could  not  know  before. 

82 


"^Titanic 


She  was  queen  of  all  the  seacraft, 

Beautiful  and  strong  and  brave, 
And  her  like  ne'er  lifted  anchor 

From  the  dimpling  sun-bright  wave. 
She  was  firmly  wrought  together, 

Oaken  beams  and  metal  bands, 
And  her  artisans  said  proudly 

"She  surpasses  all  demands." 
And  her  owners'  satisfaction, 

While  they  tho't  of  golden  gain, 
Coming  to  their  eager  fingers 

From  this  palace  on  the  main, 
\\~as  so  deep  and  all  absorbing, 

That  they  failed  where  care  was  due 
To  provide  sufficient  safety 

For  the  passengers  and  crew. 
And  the  word  went  forth  that  swifter 

Than  the  fleetest  bark  that  sails 
Would  this  mighty  ocean  monster 

Make  the  trip  thro'  storm  and  gales. 
While  the  comfort  of  her  cabins 

And  her  staterooms  costly  ease, 
Made  her  first  among  the  fairest, 

That  e'er  braved  the  surging  seas. 
There  were  many  of  the  famous, 

And  the  rich  and  great  of  earth, 
Who  took  passage  on  that  steamer, 

In  her  cabins  sought  a  berth. 
And  the  lowly  peasant  woman, 

With  her  babe  upon  her  breast, 
From  the  land  where  custom  makes  her 

But  a  slave,  was  with  the  rest. 


With  bright  hopes  and  hearts  untroubled, 

All  were  ready  to  set  sail; 
Cheery  were  the  good-byes  spoken 

As  they  took  the  trackless  trail. 
For,  was  not  the  great  director 

Of  the  line  among  that  throng? 
He  would  see  that  all  things  needful 

For  their  safety  be  along. 
Merry-making,  joyous  meetings, 

With  the  friends  who  dwelt  aboard 
And  the  first  few  days  went  smoothly, 

Even  with  the  steerage  horde. 
But  it  came  to  pass,  that  scarcely 

Had  the  Sabbath  passed  away, 
When  there  came  a  solemn  warning 

At  the  closing  of  the  day, 
"You  are  in  a  field  of  icebergs," 

Said  the  message,  "Have  a  care!" 
But  the  captain  and  director 

Tho't,  "What  is  it  we'll  not  dare? 
With  the  staunchest  boat  that  ever 

Plowed  the  deep  and  heaving  sea — 
What  care  we  for  any  iceberg, 

Or  the  fiercest  thing  that  be?" 
So,  a  knot  was  never  slackened, 

In  the  roaring,  rushing  speed, 
Of  the  mighty  ship  "Titanic!" 

O,  she  was  a  queen  indeed! 
And  the  revelries  grew  higher, 

While  the  wine  cup  flashed  its  glow, 
And  the  light  and  careless  laughter 

Rippled  o'er  the  waters'  flow. 
Hark!     A   shock!     "We  have  struck  some 
thing!" 

But  the  game  of  cards  went  on, 

81 


And  the  merriment  grew  wilder, 

With  the  nearing  of  the  dawn. 
"She  is  listing!"  someone  shouted; 

"Tis  an  iceberg,  high  and  grim; 
See,  it  rears  its  deadly  pillars 

Far  above  the  ocean's  rim!" 
And  the  captain's  face  grew  pallid 

As  the  snow  upon  those  peaks, 
While  the  air  was  rent  asunder 

With  the  women's  fearful  shrieks. 
"Get  the  life  boats!"  rang  the  order; 

"Hasten!  we  are  sinking  fast! 
Bring  the  women  and  the  children! 

Men  must  wait  until  the  last!" 
But  the  women  held  back,  weeping, 

With  their  arms  in  death-like  clasp, 
Round  their  loved  ones;  and  stern  orders 

Failed  to  loosen  that  fond  grasp. 
Some  were  rudely  torn  asunder, 

And  the  sad,  heart-breaking  wail, 
Clave  the  night  with  mournful  sobbing, 

But  no  tears  could  then  avail. 
One  devoted  wife  clung  closely 

To  her  aged  husband's  side; 
"We  will  die  together,  dearest; 

Nothing  shall  our  love  divide; 
We  are  old,  dear  heart,  and  never 

\Vill  I  leave  you  here  alone," 
And  he  strained  her  to  his  bosom, 

While  his  lips  made  bitter  moan. 
But  with  weeping  he  besought  her 

That  she  get  into  the  boat, 
But  she  clung  the  closer  to  him; 

Then,  her  name  in  gold  she  wrote, 

85 


And  she  was  a  Jewish  woman, 

Like  the  faithful  wives  of  old, 
And  thro'  all  the  coming  ages, 

Her  devotion  will  be  told. 
O,  the  chivalry  of  seamen 

Shone  resplendent,  in  that  hour! 
"Women  first!"  the  cry  continued, 

While  they  worked  with  might  and  power. 
And  a  few  were  safely  rescued, 

By  the  good  "Carpathia," 
For  she  flew  with  speed  and  sureness, 

At  the  message  from  afar. 
For  the  noble  ship,  "Titanic" 
Had  to  call  in  her  distress; 
"We  are  sinking!  Come  and  save  us! 

We  are  in  a  direful  stress!" 
The  "Carpathia"  was  risking 

Lives,  and  ship,  and  all  on  board, 
When  she  steamed  so  near  the  icebergs 

To  relieve  that  suff'ring  horde. 
Blessings  on  that  ship,  forever! 

May  she  stem  the  roughest  tide; 
With  her  steady  course  unhindered, 

And  all  dangers  safe  outride. 
And  the  lowly  peasant  woman, 

With  her  baby  in  her  arms, 
Came  before  the  monied  monarchs, 

Where  was  then  their  gold,  and  charms? 
And  the  woman  tho't,  "'Twas  different 

In  the  land  from  whence  I  came, 
Where  the  men  are  ever  foremost; 

Can  it  be,  I  am  the  same?" 
But  she  soon  will  learn  the  reason 
Why  her  kind  are  succored  here; 

86 


'Tis  the  Christland,  and  His  Spirit 

Shields  the  weakest,  everywhere. 
And  the  millionaire  was  crying, 

Drowning  like  a  worthless  dog; 
"Take  my  money!  save  me!  save  me!" 

But,  unheeded  as  the  fog, 
That  a  winding  sheet  was  making 

For  the  doomed  and  shattered  bark, 
Were  his  cries,  so  keen  and  piercing, 

Thro'  the  fearful  midnight  dark! 
O,  the  wails  of  bitter  anguish, 

From  more  than  a  thousand  men; 
For  the  all  too  few,  frail  life  boats, 

For  these,  came  not  back  again. 
"Let  us  play,"  said  a  musician; 

He  was  leader  of  the  band. 
"Come,  my  comrades,  while  death  waits  us, 

We  will  close  together  stand. 
Let  your  notes  ring  clear  and  solemn, 

Deep  and  prayerful  o'er  the  sea; 
While  the  ship  is  sinking,  sinking, 

'Nearer  O,  my  God  to  Thee,' 
Nearer,  while  the  waves  rise  higher, 

Nearer,  in  death's  icy  chill; 
\Vhile  all  earthly  hopes  are  fading 

Let  us  feel  Thee  nearer  still." 
And  the  music  grew  still  sweeter, 

'Till  it  seemed  an  angel  choir, 
Came  to  join  the  funeral  prayer, 

And  fulfill  each  soul's  desire. 
Grand,  true  men,  we  bless  that  music 

Wafted  to  us  from  afar, 
And  thrice  blessed  be  forever, 

That  brave  ship  "Carpathia!" 


The  Ninmelah  Agency  nestled 
Amid  the  bleak  hills  of  the  West; 

Its  flag  waved  o'er  many  a  wigwam 
Of  heavy  hearts,  sad  and  distrest. 

One  night,  as  I  sat  in  my  lodgings, 
A-dreaming  of  friends  far  away, 

And  wratched  in  the  mouldering  embers, 
Dear  faces  that  came  not  to  stay, 

I  heard  the  far  tinkle  of  dog-bells, 
Then  yelps,  as  the  sled  nearer  drew; 

A  head  was  thrust  in  at  my  doorway: 
"Say,  doctor,  here's  someone  for  you." 

A  tall,  brawny  Indian  was  waiting, 
His  dog  team  must  take  me,  he  said. 

I  thought  of  the  storm  and  the  tempest, 
And  snow,  with  a  feeling  of  dread. 

But  his  sad,  deepset  eyes,  spoke   such  sor 
row, 

I  waited  his  story  to  hear; 
"The  Storm  Spirit  cursed  fair  Osseo, 

Her  life  to  her  father  is  dear. 

Old  Kennebeak  stands  bare  and  lonely, 
A  tall  bending  pine  at  his  feet; 

The  frost  hath  breathed  blight  on  the  flow 
ers 
That  made  the  dark  winter  days  sweet. 

88 


Just  one  drooping  bud  in  his  wigwam — 
The  last  of  old  Kennebeak  brave; 

The  medicine  man  of  the  pale  face 
It  maybe  her  young  life  can  save." 

I  drew  on  my  great  coat  and  started; 

"You'll    freeze,"    called    the    men    at    my 

back; 
'Tis  ten  miles  or  more  to  their  village, 

And  snow  lying  deep  on  the  track." 

The  old  chieftain  tucked  me  in  snugly, 
The  sled  was  too  narrow  for  two, 

But  close  by  my  side  did  he  never 

Once  lose  step,  the  whole  journey  thro'. 

How  swiftly  we  sped  o'er  the  ice  lake, 
And  soon  the  rude  tents  rose  to  view; 

He  lifted  the  flap  of  his  doorway, 

The  sight  pierced  my  man's  spirit  thro'! 

Shrieks,  howls  and  the  rattle  of  drum-beats 
From  strange  watchers  rent  the  night  air. 

The  dying  girl  started  in  terror 

At  sounds  dread  beyond  all  compare! 

I  saw  at  a  glance  she  was  going; 

The  chief  read  the  same  in  my  face. 
"To  soothe  her  is  all  I  can  offer," 

I  said,  "but  you'll  first  clear  the  place." 

We  watched  by  her  side  'till  the  dawning, 
When  rousing,  she  called  to  the  chief: 

"My  Father,  is  Osseo  better? 

Has  white  medicine  brought  relief?" 

89 


Old  Kennebeak  lifted  her  higher, 

And  laid  her  dark  head  on  his  breast; 

"My  flower  must  go  to  the  sunland, 

The  bright  hunting  grounds  of  the  blest." 

A  moan  from  a  spirit  in  anguish, 

A  sob  shook  the  frail,  wasted  form; 

"I  don't  want  to  leave  you,  my  Father, 
Our  lodge  is  so  pleasant  and  warm. 

The  grave,  oh,  so  cold  and  so  lonely, 
The  bright  hunting  grounds  far  away, 

I  fear  that  they  will  not  admit  me; 
Will  you  let  poor  Osseo  stay?" 

I  knelt  by  her  side  and  I  told  her 

The  story  of  infinite  love; 
Of  Jesus,  who  tenderly  waited 

To  bear  her  in  safety  above. 

"He  loves  me!"  she  cried,  "the  good  chief! 

No  fear  frightens  Osseo  now! 
But  pale   face,   how  long   have  you  known 
this?" 

And  eager  the  look  on  her  brow. 

I  said  'twas  the  tale  of  my  people; 

My  mother  had  told  it  to  me; 
Her    eyes    great    and    dark    searched    me 
wildly, 

And  asked  of  the  sad  mystery. 

"So  long  you  have  known  it  and  never 

Have  told  us  the  story  before! 
Strange,    strange!    both    my    mother    and 
sister 

Were  fearful  to  pass  the  dark  door!" 

90 


Ah,  sealed  were  my  lips  at  that  moment; 

My  spirit  bowed  down  at  the  words. 
"She  sleeps,"  said  the  chief,  "and  will  waken 

No  more  to  the  song  of  the  birds!" 

Tis  years  since  that  night,  still  before  me 
The  old  chief  kneels,  hopeless  and  sad; 

While  Osseo  whispers,  "You  kept  back 
The  tidings  so  joyful  and  glad!" 


01 


15lur  HiDgr 


O,  the  hills  of  Carolina,  rising  far  above  the 

cloud  mist, 
Reaching  up  beyond  the  vision  that  would 

pierce  into  the  blue; 

Kingly  crests,  inviting,  calling,  lifting  heav 
enward  the  spirit 
That  would  seek  the  goal  supernal,  where 

awaits  the  best  and  true. 
O,   the   peaceful   rest,   and   tranquil,    of   the 

air  among  the  mountains, 
When  wre  view  the  giant  monarchs,  stand 
ing  changeless,  strong  and  tall; 
Heads   uncovered    to   their    Maker,   looking 

ever  to  the  skyline, 
Of  the   city  fair  and  holy;   gate   of  pearl 

and  gem-starred  wall; 

When   at  morn  the   rising  sunbeams   shim 
mer  on  the  chestnut  blossoms, 
Snowy  fringes,  drooping  gracefully  from 

every  fragrant  bough, 
And    the    laurel's    pearly    pinkness    mingles 

with  the  rhododendron, 
Wrapt  we  gaze  and  dream  what  Eden  wras 

ere  sin  came  trailing  through. 
O,  the  glory  of  the  noontide  in  the  heart  of 

early  summer, 
\Vhen   the  breezes  blow  refreshing  from 

the  heights  of  "granite  towers," 
"Ho,  for  Carolina,"  sang  we,  with  the  poet 

of  our  North  State; 

There  can  be  no   fairer  region   than  this 
sunny  land  of  ours. 

92 


Blue     Ridge!     Scene     of    happy     meetings 

where  we  gather  in  the  June  time, 
With  the  noblest  and  the  brightest,  and 

the  rarest  minds  of  earth, 
Telling  us  of  highest  vision,  as  the  Master 

taught   on  hill-top, 

Sacred  Olivet,  in  ages  gone,  where  broth 
erhood  had  birth. 
O,   the   evenings  in   the   open    on    the   grass 

slope  of  the  hillside, 
With   our  comrades   from   all  lands,  who 

came  to  hear  the  words  of  life, 
Of   realities   eternal,  while   our  hearts  were 

knit  together, 
That  the   healing   of   the   nations,   from   all 

selfishness  and  strife! 
Oriental  eyes  of  darkness,  deep  and  earnest, 

gleamed  around  us, 
Olive    cheeks,    aglow    with    purpose    high 

and  holy,  at  our  side. 
Dusky  brows  and  features  foreign,  showed 

one  covenant,  one  effort, 
One  endeavor  after  service,  through  what 
ever  might  betide. 

O,  the  consecrated  workers  of  the  Associa 
tion  Conference, 
And  the  tender  bonds  that  drew  us  close, 

to  labor  heart  to  heart, 

For  the   saving  of   the  jewels   of  the   Mas 
ter's  spreading  kingdom, 
Those   he   bought   with   a   price,   and   wre, 

too,  must  bear  a  part 
In    assisting    some    benighted    soul    toward 

the  hills  of  glory, 

If   we    hope    to    claim    His   welcome    smile 
when  life's  brief  day  is  done. 

93 


O,  the  vision  splendid  given,  while  we  gazed 

on  rays  of  beauty, 

Resting  on  the  mountain  peaks  at  the  set 
ting  of  the  sun. 
O,   the    hills    of    Carolina,   long   will    linger 

what  ye  gave  us, 
When    we     met     amid     your    witchery    in 

balmy  summer  time; 
And   the   friendships   dear  and   tender,   will 

be  cherished  with  our  life  breath, 
Sweet  remembrances  now  wre  waft  you  in 
this  simple  southern  rhyme. 


IV 
HOME 


Dear  one,  my  sad  heart  fondly  dwells 
\\ith  those  sweet  years,  so  long  ago; 

When  life  was  bright  and  beautiful, 
And  thou,  the  best  of  all  below. 

Tho'  many  a  weary  day  has  past, 
And  lonely  nights  of  pain  and  care, 

Yet  still  thou  art  my  heart's  deep  sigh, 
Thine  image  closely  nestles  there. 

I  see  again  thy  soft  dark  eyes, 
So  fondly  gaze  into  mine  own; 

In  dreams  I  hold  thy  precious  form, 
But,  oh,  the  vision's  quickly  flown. 

I  sit  alone  in  sadness  now, 

And  think  of  thee,  my  own  swreet  one; 
O,  golden  days  come  back  to  me, 

And  bring  once  more  my  life's  bright  sun! 

I  loved  thee,  oh,  so  tenderly, 

Thou  wast  the  light  of  every  hour; 

But  now  I'll  see  thee  never  more, 

And  darkness  o'er  my  life  doth  lower. 

When  last  I  saw  thy  gentle  form, 

So  dearly  loved,  but  cold  and  still, 
I  thought  my  heart  must  break  with  woe, 
I  COULD  NOT  bow  to  Heaven's  will. 

O,  darling,  in  your  far  off  home, 
Beyond  the  reach  of  earthly  care, 

Dost  think  of  one  who  loved  thee  well, 
And  prays  to  find  thee  waiting  there? 

97 


When  first  my  weary  eyes  behold, 
The  glory  of  that  brighter  land, 

O,  let  me  clasp  thee  in  my  arms, 

And  roam  with  thee,  the  golden  strand, 

I  long  to  hear  thy  voice  again, 

My  heart  aches  for  its  thrilling  tones, 

Dearer  than  earthly  melody, 
Or  any  joy  my  spirit  owns. 

My  own!  yes  mine,  thro'  life  or  death, 
The  years  can  bring  no  change  to  me; 

And  when  the  angel  lets  me  in, 

O,  may  mine  eyes  first  rest  on  thee. 

O,  you  who  have  your  treasures  now, 
And  hold  a  little  thrilling  form, 

O,  clasp  them  closer,  closer  still, 

And  love  them  while  that  heart  is  warm. 

But,  Father,  thou  wast  kind  and  good, 
To  take  my  darling  to  Thy  rest, 

And  tho'  I  miss  her  from  my  side, 
I'll  pray  to  meet  her  with  the  blest. 

March  17th,  1883. 


Cl)itol)oo&'0  Jftome 


Fell  me  dear  ones,  if  you  miss  me 

In  my  childhood's  home  to-night; 
Is  there  sorrow  with  your  spirits, 

That  no  other  voice  can  light? 
Do  you  miss  my  form  and  footstep, 

Do  yon  sigh  for  me  to  come, 
Tell  me  if  you  miss  me,  loved  ones, 

In  my  girlhood's  happy  home? 

\  es,  1  know  your  hearts  will  cherish 

Every  mem'ry  of  my  face, 
And  your  love  will  light  my  pathway, 

Tho'  I  miss  your  fond  embrace. 
And  the  songs  we  sang  together, 

In  the  happy  days  of  yore, 
Still  are  dearer  than  all  others, 

Tho'  1   sing  with  you  no  more. 

Oh,   this   weary    watching,   waiting', 

For  a  time  that  tarries  long! 
Do  you   find  the  hours  so  lonelv, 

\\  hile  you  miss  the  evening  song? 
Oh,  how  often  in  the  twilight, 

Have   we  joyed  in   music's   spell, 
And  our  hearts  were  bound  together 

\\  ith  a  love  no  tongue  can  tell. 

Tho'  the  storms  of  life  shall  gather, 
'Round  my  heart  in  coming  years, 

And  1  miss  the  light  and  gladness, 
While   1   look  thro'  blinding  tears; 


Still  the  memory  of  those  loved  ones, 

In  my  home  so  far  awajr, 
Gives  a  precious  joy  and  sweetness, 

That  will  bless  life's  latest  day. 

July,  1883. 


Don't  keep  your  pleasant  manners, 

And  gentle  phrases,  too, 
For  strangers;  be  your  best  at  home, 

Where  true  hearts  beat  for  you. 

Be  kind  to  those  who  love  you, 

Agreeable  always; 
Keep  not  the  bright  and  cheerful  smile 

Reserved  for  better  days. 

'Tis  well  to  be  attentive 

And  pleasant  to  the  guest; 
But  speak  your  sweetest,  kindest  words, 

To  those  who  love  you  best. 

July  6th,  1885. 


100 


i&osa 


I  sit  here  alone  in  my  chamber  to-night, 
While  every  fond  thought  is  of  thee; 

O,  welcome  fair  vision  so  radiant  and  bright, 
That  brings  back  those  last  hours  to  me! 

Sweet  sister,  beloved  of  my  earliest  years, 

1  cannot  be  happy  and  gay, 
I    murmur    thy    name,    while    the    gathering 
tears, 

Remind  me  that  thou  art  away. 

I'm   lonely,   I   miss   thee  and  lon^  -for  'the^ 

now, 

Come  lean  your  fair  head  on,.m\  br3ast; 
I'd  kiss  every  shade  from  thy  pure  marble 

brow, 
And   soothe  thy  sweet  spirit  to  rest. 

Dear  arms  that  caressed  me  so  long,  long 

ago, 

Enfold  me  as  fondly  once  more; 
O,   sad   are   the   hours   as   they   pass,   and   I 

know 
They  will  not  thy  presence  restore. 

My  heart  grieves  in  pain  as  the  long  months 

creep  by, 

I  fret  for  one  sight  of  thy  face; 
I    sigh   for   the   light   of   thy   laughing   blue 

eye, 
That  brightens  the  dreariest  place. 


But   still    I    will    watch,   I    will   wait,   I    will 

hope, 

For  a  day  that  will  bring  thee  again. 
May    sunshine    surround    thee,    and    tho'    I 

may  mope, 
I'll  pray  that  your  life  has  no  pain. 

O,  do  you,  my  darling,  think  often   of  me, 
And  long  for  the  moment  to  come, 

When    meeting,  all    sadness   and   sorrow   will 

flee, 
As  the  lone  heart  returns  to  its  home? 

No   other   can   take  your  dear  place  in  my 
heart, 

TiVpldce  that  was  yours  long  ago, 
O,  come  little 'sister,  the  sad  tears  will  start, 

\Vjhilc  n-igb.t  ,Vvinds  moan  softly  and  low. 

I    watch    the   bright    stars    in   the   far  away 

blue, 

And  think  that  my  loved  one's  fair  form, 
Shines  deep   in  my  heart   just  as   lovely   and 

true 
And  nestles  so  closely  and  warm. 

I  dream  of  those  years  when  our  lives  were 

as  one, 

Each  day  brought  some  joy  to  our  hearts, 
Ah,  if  we  had  known  ere  those  bright  days 

were  flown, 
How  swiftly  life's  springtime  departs! 

September  28th,  1883. 


102 


I  press  them  to  my  quivering  lips, 

And  think  of  days  gone  by; 
Once  more  I  see  those  tiny  feet, 

And  kiss  them  joyously. 

Dear  feet  that  now  can  never  stray, 

I  love  to  think  that  there 
They  wander  through  a  blissful  realm, 

With  angels  bright  and  fair. 

0  precious  feet  that  tread  the  shore 
Beside  the  crystal  sea, 

Tis   sweet  unto  my  lonely  heart 
To  know  they  wait  for  me. 

But  darling,  once  my  life's  deep  joy 

\Yas  found  in  thee  alone, 
And  thou  wast  fairer  to  mine  eyes 

Than  all  the  world  can  own. 

These  little  stockings  that  I  prize, 

Beyond  all  else  beside, 
Recall  those  joys  that  now  are  fled, 

As  ripples  on  the  tide. 

How  often  in  that  happy  time 

I've  played  with  baby's  feet, 
And  thought  that  naught  was  ever  made 

One-half  so  fair  and  sweet. 

1  hear  once  more  her  merry  laugh, 
And  kiss  the  cherub's  mouth, 

O  sweeter  was  her  pure  soft  breath 
Than  winds  amid  the  South. 


103 


I  force  the  struggling  tears  away, 
And  crush  my  aching  heart, 

And  try  to  make  my  soul  believe 
'Twas  best  for  us  to  part. 

The  feet  that  wore  these  stockings  once 

Can  never  weary  grow; 
No  shade  of  sorrow  now  can  rest 

Upon  her  brow  of  snow. 

November  15th,  1883. 


104 


I  know  a  little  darling 

Whose  merry  laughing  eyes 
Are  brighter  than  the  sunbeams 

That  light  the  summer  skies. 
The  sweetest  dimples  nestle 

In  baby's  rosy  cheek, 
And  tho'  we  oft  caress  him, 

Our  love  we  ne'er  can  speak. 

We  clasp  the  fair-haired  darling, 

And  kiss  him  o'er  and  o'er; 
And  wonder  if  the  world  contains, 

'Mid  all  its  precious  store, 
A  gift  that  could  be  dearer 

Than  this  our  baby  boy; 
No  darling,  not  in  all  the  earth, 

Is  one  so  sweet  as  Roy. 

Oh,  loved  one,  do  we  worship  thee; 

Is  love  like  our's  a  sin? 
But  why  are  you  so  fair  and  sweet, 

To  glad  our  hearts  within? 
And  if  our  darling  soars  away, 

To  fairer  climes  above, 
We  still  will  know  our  grateful  hearts 

Give  him  a  wealth  of  love. 

We  pray  no  harm  may  come  to  him; 

We  ask  that  he  may  stay, 
To  bless  our  earthly  journey, 

A-down  the  toilsome  way. 


105 


But  if  the  angels  call  him, 

To  join  the  shining  band, 
We  think  he'll  be  the  fairest 

In  all  that  happy  land. 

Dear  little  hands,  so  soft  and  white, 

That  seem  so  frail  and  weak, 
God  grant  that  they  may  scatter 

A  light  to  spirits  bleak. 
And  may  our  darling's  heart  be  strong, 

To  breast  the  ills  of  fate, 
And  find  at  last  the  happiness, 

Within  the  golden  gate. 

December  13th,  1883. 


106 


(3Io 


My  heart  is  sad,  dear  Annie, 
And  spring"  will  come  in  vain 

For  me;  I  think  of  naught  but  thee, 
Upon  that  couch  of  pain. 

I  cannot  prize  the  music 

Of  merry  song-birds'  lay; 
The  voice  which  would  delight  me  more 

Is  silent  thro'  tin-  day. 

1  cannot  love  the  sunshine, 

It  does  not  make  me  glad; 
I  know  you  cannot  see  it,  dear, 

And  oh,  my  heart  is  sad! 

The   hyacinths   are   blooming, 

And  violets  ere  long 
\\  ill  lift  their  purple  eyes  and  smile, 

To  hear  the  brooklet's  song. 

The  joys  which  once  did  charm  me, 

Bring  only  sadness  now, 
For  thou,  dear  one,  art  lying  low, 
With  hot  and  throbbing  brow. 

The  soft  breeze  hath  no  power, 
To  cool  that  burning  cheek; 

The  form,  which   late  was  full  and  round, 
Is  thin  and  frail  and  weak. 

The  eye  which  beamed  so  brightly — 

The  beautiful  brown  eye — 
Is  sunken  with  the  fever's  blight, 

And  I   can  onlv  sigh! 


107 


O,  if  my  prayers  could  heal  you, 

Or  tears  allay  your  pain, 
You  had  been  well  long  weeks  ago, 

But  I  have  wept  in  vain. 

The  songs  that  are  the  sweetest, 

I  cannot  dare  to  sing; 
You  sang  them  once,  oh  Annie  dear, 

Their  words  sad  mem'ries  bring. 

When  e'er  I  touch  the  organ, 

I  can  but  think  of  you; 
Your  fingers  once  awoke  the  keys, 

And  o'er  them  lightly  flew. 

When  shall  I  hear  you  sing,  dear, 
As  once  you  sang  for  me? 

The  question  only  makes  me  weep, 
Sad  tears  fall  silently. 

February  14th,  1884. 


1 08 


SDream 


Some  months  ago  I  had  a  fearful  dream, 
Even  yet  the  memory  will  make  me  weep; 

And  when  I  look  on  thee  I  ask  my  God 
To  spare  my  life  the  horror  of  that  sleep. 

I   dreamed  that  you  were  dead,  and  then  I 

knew 
How    utterly    my    life    was    linked    with 

thine; 

I  knelt  beside  your  dear  and  lifeless  form, 
And    prayed    the   vital    spark   might    pass 
from  mine. 

I  laid  your  precious  head  upon  my  breast; 
I  clasped  you  in  a  passionate  embrace; 
In  yearning  tones  I  spoke  your  loved,  sweet 

name, 

A  thousand  times  I  kissed  your  cold, 
white  face. 

And  oh,  what  bitter,  bitter  tears  I  shed! 

I  murmured  every  fond  and  tender  word 
In  love's  intensest  agony;  it  seemed 

That  e'en  in  death's  deep  sleep  you  must 
have  heard. 

I  thought  my  warm  caresses  would  restore 
One  throb  to  that  dear  heart  which  loved 
me  well; 

1  knew  it  then — I  felt  that  'twas  mine  own 
Unto  the  last  and  sorrowful  farewell. 


log 


"Dear  love,"   I    said,   "oh   can   you  hear  me 

now? 
My    soul    is    bowed    with    grief    I    cannot 

bear; 

I  cannot  live  without  thee;  let  me  rest 
My  form  beside  thee,  and  thy  low  couch 
share. 

I  cannot  live  without  thee!  even  now 

A    blackness    closes    'round   my    breaking 

heart; 
Life's  every  hope  and  joy  is  lost  with  thee; 

0  cruel  Death,  to  tear  our  souls  apart!" 

When  I  awoke  I  laughed  aloud  in  joy, 
Although  mine  eyes  were  wet  with  recent 

tears; 

My  happy  heart  was  lifted  up  to  Heaven 
In  praise  and  thankfulness;  gone  were  all 
fears. 

When   next    I    gazed   upon   your    form    and 

face, 
Life  seemed  so  beautiful,  Hope's  shining 

beam 
Lit  all  the  future  with  a  hallowed  light; 

1  said,    "Thank    God— thank    God,    'twas 

but  a  dream!" 

July  24th,  1885, 


no 


3  Arrant  almost 


I  watched  beside  my  darling's  couch, 
Thro'  days  and  nights  of  anxious  pain; 

Aly  soul  then  knew  but  one  desire — 
To  see  him  well  and  strong  again. 

The  form  I  thought  so  beautiful, 
And  perfect  in  its  manly  grace, 

Was  stricken  like  a  lovely  flower, 

\\  Inch  fades  and  dies  before  our  face. 

The  scorching  hand  of  burning  heat, 
Which  fever  laid  upon  his  brow, 

Seemed  drinking  up  his  sweet  young  life, 
While    love    and    care    seemed    worthless 
now. 

I  kissed  the  dry  and  parched  lips 
Which  late  responded  to  mine  own; 

I  called  his  name,  but  when  he  spoke 
'Twas  in  delirium's  wild  tone. 

The  dearest  hands  I  ever  held, 
Lay  hot  within  my  tender  clasp; 

It  almost  killed  me  then  to  think 
They  never  would  return  the  grasp. 

And  in  my  agony  I  thought, 

"O,  is  my  dream  to  be  fulfilled? 

Is  this  loved  form  to  leave  my  sight, 
This  heart  to  be  forever  stilled?" 

I  listen  now  to  hear  it  beat — 
I  hold  my  breath  in  deadly  fear; 

And  when  he  speaks  my  name  it  is 
The  music  that  I  long  to  hear. 

m 


I  know  I  wearied  heaven  with  prayers, 
To  raise  my  darling  up  once  more; 

I  never  knew  what  depths  of  love 
Lay  in  my  soul's  exhaustless  store. 

And  when  I  saw  the  light  return, 

To  those  dark  eyes  so  dear  to  me 
lt  seemed  my  heart  could  scarce  contain 
Joy's  fullness  and  intensity. 

Whene'er  I  knelt  at  twilight  hour, 
And  every  moment  thro'  the  day— 

My  soul  goes  up  in  silent  praise 
And  thankfulness  in  all  I  pray. 

And  if  this  precious  life  was  spared 
In  answer  to  my  fervent  prayer, 

I  still  will  trust  that  God  will  keep 
Him  in  His  love  and  tender  care. 

O,  well  I  may  rejoice,  for  what 

Would  life  have  been  without  my  love? 

And  in  my  joy  I'll  not  forget 

To  thank  the  Gracious  Powers  Above: 

August  22nd,  1885. 


112 


In  the  valley,  dark  with  shadows, 
Where  the  silent  angel  treads — 

I  have  seen  a  loved  one  linger, 

In  the  gloom  his  presence  spreads. 

And  I  thought  that  death  was  calling — 

Ah,  I  know  he  waited  there, 
While  my  broken  spirit  murmured 

Ever  one  untiring  prayer. 

"If  it  be  Thy  will,  oh  Father, 
Give  me  back  this  precious  life." 

Heart  and  soul  were  torn  and  bleeding 
In  the  agonizing  strife. 

Oh,  the  anguish  of  that  season, 
When  for  days  I  feared  the  worst! 

While  the  mournful  nights   seemed  endless 
Hope,  I  neither  could  nor  durst. 

Then  I  asked  God's  faithful  children, 
For  their  earnest,  fervent  prayers; 

For  'twas  not  in  vain — He  answered, 
And  in  love  that  life  He  spares. 

Let  me  never  more  be  doubtful, 
Of  the  love  of  one  dear  Friend, 

Which  will  last  thro'  life's  sad  changes. 
Blessing  me  unto  the  end. 

And  my  thankful  heart  in  meekness, 
Bows  beneath  its  weight  of  joy; 

When  I  feel  the  warm  sweet  kisses, 
Of  my  little  dark-eyed  boy. 

"3 


When  I  hold  him  to  my  bosom, 
In  the  gladness  of  my  love, 

Never  do  I  cease  to  whisper, 
Praises  to  that  Friend  above. 


114 


I  seem  to  see  your  sad  dark  eyes 
Still  looking  up  to  mine,  dear  Nell, 

And  ever  in  mine  ear  there  rings 
That  cruel  word,  "Farewell." 

I  knew  that  I  would  miss  you,  dear, 
And  lonely  days  must  come  and  go, 

Yet  still  I  did  not  think  my  heart 
Would  feel  such  heavy  woe. 

But  I  can  bear  whatever  loss 
Brings  to  thy  life  a  brighter  day; 

And  o'er  thy  path  the  star  of  hope 
Shines  with  resplendent  ray. 

I  would  not  "call  thee  back  again," 
For  fortune  smiles  upon  thee  now, 

And  holds  a  wreath  of  beauty  rare, 
To  crown  thy  pure  young  brow. 

And  while  I  know  that  it  is  well 
With  you,  I  will  not  feel  regret; 

But  though  you  roam  a  distant  land, 
My  heart  is  with  you  yet. 

And  if  the  parting  be  for  years, 

Xor  time,  nor  fate  can  change  my  heart, 
E'en  though  a  stern  relentless  hand 

Should  bid  us  dwell  apart. 

And  if  the  time  should  ever  come, 
When  I  can  show  my  earnest  love, 

O  come  to  me  with  perfect  trust, 
And  1  will  faithful  prove. 

April  14th,  1886. 

"5 


Clause 


Like  a  ray  of  golden  sunlight, 
Glancing  o'er  a  shadowed  way, 

Came  my  little  Claude  to  brighten, 
Every  moment  of  the  day. 

Streamlets  dancing  thro'  the  woodland. 
Laughing  in  their  merry  glee — 

Seem  not  gayer  than  the  music 
Of  your  joyous  laugh,  to  me. 

And  the   spring-time  skies  that  glisten, 
With  a  beauty  sweet  and  rare — 

Are  not  bright  as  smiles  once  playing 
O'er  a  face  so  dear  and  fair. 

Oft  I  listen  for  thy  footstep, 
Thinking  that  it  must  be  near; 

And  the  voice  that  cheered  my  spirit, 
In  soft  melody  I  hear. 

But  the  beautiful  illusion, 

Fades  and  leaves  me  still  alone, 

Dreaming  of  the  happy  hours, 
Which  beyond  recall,  have  flown. 

Still  'tis  pleasant  to  remember, 

That  you  came  for  one  short  wrhile. 

And  I  cherish  tender  mem'ries, 
Of  your  sweet  and  sunny  smile. 

May  15th,  1886. 


116 


$)nnorir0  of 


Sweet  mem'ries  of  long  buried  years 

Throng  'round  me  with  voices  of  old, 
And  bring  back  the  days  of  the  past, 

When  life  seemed  no  sadness  to  hold. 
I  stray  through  the  scenes  of  my  youth, 

And  linger  'mid  loved   ones  again 
Around  the  bright  hearth-stone  at  eve, 

When    laughter     was     gay    with    mirth's 

strain. 
How  happy  the  days  that  we  spent 

Out  at   the   old   farm   long  ago! 
The  old  fashioned  house  was  so  queer, 

But  oh!  'twas  the  dearest  I  know. 
We  played  through  the  long  sunny  hours 

Beneath   the   great    oaks   at   the   door, 
And    fanciful   houses   we   built; 

Such  structures  were  ne'er  reared  before. 
We  roamed  through  the  fields  at  our  will, 

As  gay  as  the  birds  on  the  boughs 
And  skipped  o'er  the  meadows  so  green 

Where  loved  the  meek  cattle  to  browse. 
Dear  grandpa  would   help  us  to  find 

The  peaches  that  yellowest  grew, 
And  search  with  us  children  the  trees 

\\  here  red  apples  hid  from   our  view. 
And  oft  where  the  strawberries  glowed, 

We'd  hie  with  our  baskets  to  fill, 
And  when  one  had  found  a  rare  prize, 

A    shriek    would    break    forth,    loud    and 

shrill. 
And  oh,  was  there  ever  such   cream 

As  grandmother  had  in  those  days! 

117 


And  oh,  were  there  ever  such  wolves 

As  we,  with  our  ravenous  ways! 
But  then  there  was  naught  to  compare 
In  all  the  wide  world,  with  the  charm 
Of  grandma's  good  things,  which  we  found 

In  those  happy  days  at  the  farm! 
There  never  was  carriage  so  grand, 
With   horses   so  dashing  and   gay, 
That  could  have  seemed  dear  to  us  then, 

As  Fan,  and  the  old  rock-a-way. 
How1  oft  on  a  bright  Saturday 

It  stood  at  our  door,  while  we  all 
Made  ready  to  go  to  the  farm 

To  stay  over  Sunday.     How  small 
Seem  life's  joys  compared  with   those  days 

When  hearts  were  so  joyous  and  free; 
No  thought  of  a  sorrow  to  come, 
E'er  ruffled  youth's  tranquility. 
How  scattered  the  dear  ones  who  met 

In  days  that  were  sunny  and  fair; 
Dear  grandfather  died  long  ago, 

And  changed  are  the  places  so  rare. 
He  who  was  companion  and  friend, 

And  playfellow  all;   when  he  crossed 
The  river  whence  none  come  again — 

We  grieved  for  the  loved  and  the  lost. 
But  still  we  had  grandmama  left; 

And  dear  were  the  times  when  she  came 
To  visit  us  in  our  own  homes, 

And  ever  we  found  her  the  same. 
We  sat  at  her  feet  while   she  told 

Strange  tales  of  the  long,  long  ago; 
When  she  was  a  girl  in  her  "teens," 

And  grandpa  her  handsome,  best  beau. 
The  dress  that  she  wore  made  us  laugh, 
To  hear  of  its  scant  skirt  and  waist 
118 


Just  under  the  arms;  and  how  queer 

The  hat  that  her  auburn  hair  graced. 
Ah,  days  that  were  free  from  all  care! 

Bright  hours  that  can  come  not  again. 
Sweet  mem'ries  of  summers  long  fled, 

Bring  sighs  that  are  sighed  but  in  vain. 
Dear  grandma  we'll  never  more  greet 

This  side  of  the  City  of  God; 
For  she,  too,  in  silence  now  sleeps, 

With  hands  folded  under  the  sod. 
But  while  we  in  sadness  are  waiting 

The  angel  to  carry  us  o'er. 
We  know  she  is  happy  with  loved  ones 

Who  reached  the  fair  heaven  before. 
When  life's  stormy  day  is  declining, 

And  gleams  the  soft  light  of  the  eve — 
Wre'll  look   for  a  rest   from   our  labors, 

In  realms  where  we  never  shall  grieve; 
\Yhere  hands  that  we  kissed  in  their  cold 
ness, 

That  gave  back  no  token  of  love — 
Will  stretch  forth  to  meet  us  in  heaven, 

And   fondly   love's   tenderness   prove. 
We  wait  by  the  river,  dear  loved  ones, 

And  watch  for  a  glorious  ray; 
WTe  bear  the  rude  blast  of  the  tempest, 

In  hope  of  a  fair  summer  day. 

March  1st,  1889. 


IIQ 


to  tlje 


When  fortune  frowns  and  friends  desert, 

And  all  thy  hopes  decay, 
There  is  a  heart  still  true — a  face 

That  will  not  turn  away. 
The  mother's  fond  and  trusting  love 

Will  live  through   cold  neglect; 
And  ne'er  a  thought  of  a  return 

Its  service  doth  direct. 

She  never  asks,  "Is  it  a  waste 

To  give  so  much,  and  get 
So  small  a  portion  back?"  nor  feels 

One  shadow  of  regret, 
For  years  of  long  devotion  given 

To  an  unworthy  child; 
But  deems  it  still  a  joy  to  love 

Her  o\vn,  e'en  though  defiled. 

O,  who  would  wound  a  heart  so  true, 

And  send  a  throb  of  pain 
To  one  who'd  sooner  die  than  give 

One  sorrow  back  again? 
The  pure  unsullied  love  that  lasts 

As  long  as  one  heart-beat 
Lives  in  the  breast,  that  aye  would  shield 

From  ills  that  we  must  meet. 

So  ready  e'er  to  hide  the  faults 

Which  vex  our  other  friends: 
So  quick  to  see  and  prize  the  good 

That  in  our  nature  blends. 
A  love  unselfish,  pure  and  sweet, 

As  holy  angels  feel 
For   erring  mortals   here  below — 

For  aye,  through  woe  or  weal. 

March   12th,   1890. 

120 


a  SDrar  %>i&ttt 


A  vision  arises  before  me, 

A  beautiful  vision  of  thee; 
I  see  every  line  of  thy  figure, 

Its  grace,  and  its  fair  symmetry. 

I   think  of  thee  now  as  I   saw  thee, 

On  that  winter  day  long  ago; 
Your  smile  was  as  bright  as  the  sunbeams, 

That  danced  on  the  glistening  snow. 

0  do  you  recall  how  I  wept,  dear, 
When  saying  good-bye  to  you  here? 

My  heart  was  like  lead  in  my  bosom, 
With  saddest  foreboding  and  fear. 

And  darling,  tis  long  since  you  left  me, 
\Vith  promises  soon  to  return; 

The  future  seemed  brilliant  before  you, 
Our  eyes  could  no  shadow  discern. 

Ah,  why  did  I  weep?     Was  it  something 
Which  told  me  of  dark  days  to  come? 

1  think  of  thee  now  as  I  saw  thee, 

When  last  you  went  out  from  my  home. 

I  know  that  your  dear,  patient  spirit, 

Hath  bowed  'ncath  the  chastening  rod, 

And  suffered  unmurmuring,  resting 
Thy  faith  on  the  love  of  thy  God. 

One  wish  stirs  my  heart's  deepest  longing, 
It  is  my  one  prayer  day  and  night; 

To  see  thee  again,  as  I  saw  thee, 
So  beautiful,  radiant  and  bright. 

121 


jfatljer  ana  s 


For  this  being  of  mine,  I  would  thank  you; 
For    the    heart,    and    the    brain,    that    are 

yours. 
For  the  light  in  my  eyes,  and  the  blood  in 

my  veins, 

And  the   spirit  that  ever  endures. 
For  the  love  that  you  gave  me,  unmeasured, 
And     the     dear     guiding    hand     that    re 
strained, 
And  shielded  in  hours  of  danger  and  need; 

In  trial  this  shelter  remained. 
For  your  smiles  in  the  morning,  unfailing, 

Your  kiss  at  the  evening's  still  hour; 
The  tears  and  the  songs  and  the  blessings 

you  gave, 

That  helped  to  make  life's  golden  dower. 
For  the  faith  you  had  in  me  I  thank  you; 
For  your  hope  and  your  trust  and   your 

pride; 
For  your  praise  and  your  blame  and  your 

infinite  care 

And  the  honor  you  taught  me  beside. 
But  oh,  dearest  Mother,  forgive  me, 

For  the  fears  and  the  dreads  and  alarms. 
That   my   waywardness    caused    you,    sweet 

angel, 
When  your  life  would  have  spared  me  all 

harm. 
For  the  times  that  I  hurt  you,  forgive  me; 

For  the  sighs  and  the  sobs  that  I  wrung 
From  your  soul  in  its  peril  of  bitterest  pain, 
When    your    breath    in    the    balance    was 
flung. 

122 


My  Father,  forgive  for  your  lessons, 

And  councels  unheeded  by  me; 
While  your  life's  holiness  and  your  walk  close 
to  God, 

My  selfishness  oft-failed  to  see. 
Is  it  you,  oh  beloved  angel  Mother, 

Who  come  like  the  dew  of  the  eve, 
And  breathe  on  my  spirit  soft  whispers  of 
calm, 

A  kiss  on  my  brow  do  you  leave? 
The  light  in  your  eyes,  blue  and  tender, 

Is  with  me,  wherever  I  go. 
And   your   pure,   perfect   spirit,    so    close   to 
my  side, 

Will  stay  while  my  life's  currents  flow. 
In  Heaven,  my  dear,  sainted  Father, 

I  feel  that  you  pray  for  me  still; 
O,  may  the  Redeemer  grant  you  in  His  love, 

Your  wishes  for  me  to  fulfill. 
Sweet  spirits,  so  high  and  so  holy, 

Yet  ever  so  close  to  your  child, 
That  our  souls  seem  to  blend  in  that  region 
of  peace, 

Where  our  beings  are  never  defiled. 
O,  hearts  that  are  truest  and  dearest, 

At  last  you  can  see  with  clear  eye, 
And  know  my  desire  is  to  walk  as  you  led, 

Up  the  steeps  that  are  rugged  and  high. 
Nor  death,  nor  decay,  nor  sad  changes, 

Can  e'er  from  rny  spirit  remove, 
The  things  that  are  real,  enduring  for  aye, 

I  still  have  your  beautiful  love. 
The  love  that  uplifts  and  ennobles, 

And  opens  the  path  to  the  skies; 
Rejoice  heart  of  mine,  for  unfailing  the  joy 

Of  this,  dearest  of  life's  mysteries. 

123 


V 
MORAL  AND  RELIGIOUS 


Cljeer 


0  keep  from  me  the  sullen  brow, 
The  cold  or  frowning  eye; 

It  makes  me  feel  a  nameless  gloom, 
As  tempests  o'er  the  sky. 

1  ever  shun  the  churlish  heart, 
That  never  can  be  glad — 

Or  will  not — it  is  all  the  same, 
Their  presence  makes  me  sad. 

What  is  the  use  to  be  cast  down, 

Or  fret,  or  pout,  or  whine, 
The  ills  that  sometimes  cross  thy  path, 

Vex  other  hearts  than  thine. 

Like  rays  of  purest  golden  light, 

Are  cheerful  souls  to  me, 
Their  pleasant  words  and  smiling  eyes, 

Bid  gloom  and  sadness  flee. 

Like  flowers  along  the  rough  wayside, 
Are  friends  that  come  with  cheer, 

Their  very  names  will  warm  the  heart, 
Before  their  forms  appear. 

Like  beacons  o'er  a  stormy  sea, 

The  happy  faces  come; 
We  think  of  them,  and  long  for  them, 

When  clouds  of  sorrow  loom. 

Like  stars  in  deepest  midnight  skies, 

The  merry  spirits  bring 
A  subtle  charm  which  wooes  the  soul, 

Away  on  lightsome  wing. 

127 


Like  spring-birds  in  the  dreary  hours, 
Are  kind  and  pleasant  words; 

They  fill  the  heart  with  silent  joy, 
As  sweet  as  sweetest  birds. 

March  12th,  1884. 


after 


After  weary  years  of  waiting 
For  a  pleasant,  peaceful  time, 

We  shall  find  it  over  yonder, 
In  that  ever  sunny  clime. 

After  many  a  pain  and  heartache, 
Over  joys  that  fade  and  die, 

We  shall  find  them  brighter,  purer, 
In  that  home  beyond  the  sky. 

After  fate's  cold  hand  hath  blighted 
Every  flower  in  Hope's  fair  crown, 

We  shall  walk  thro'  Eden's  bowers, 
Where  the  sweetest  buds  are  blown. 

After  cruel  partings  sever 

Hearts  that  loved  each  other  well, 
They  shall  meet  to  love  forever, 

In  a  rapture  none  can  tell. 

January  27th,  1885. 


128 


^tne  for 


No  wine  for  me!    No  not  one  drop; 

I  know  full  well  the  curse  it  brings, 
sTis  pleasant  to  the  taste,  but  oh, 

It  leaves  a  thousand  deathless  stings. 

I've  vowed  to  shun  its  flashing  glow, 
Nor  ever  once  that  nectar  sip, 

Which  lures  the  noblest  youth  to  death, 
And  turns  to  wormwood  on  the  lip. 

O,  I  could  tell  a  tale  of  woe, 

So  fearful  it  would  make  you  weep; 

The  mem'ry  of  those  darksome  hours, 
Will  help  my  heart  its  vow  to  keep. 

My  father  once  stood  proud  and  high, 
He  sunk  his  honor  in  the  glass; 

Our  happy  home  was  swept  away, 
My  mother  wept  as  days  would  pass. 

The  wife  and  boy  once  dearly  loved, 
Were  left  alone  from  day  to  day, 

And  many  a  time  we  had  no  bread, 
Or  fire,  to  keep  the  cold  away. 

How  often  thro'  the  long,  long  night, 
She  held  me  clasped  close  to  her  breast; 

She  took  the  shawl  from  her  thin  form, 
And  tried  to  soothe  her  boy  to  rest. 

I  felt  her  hot  tears  on  my  brow, 
I  heard  her  agonizing  prayer, 
That  God  would  shield  her  boy's  young  life, 
From    that    which    brought    such    sorrow 
there. 

129 


My  father  died  a  death  of  shame; 

The  drunkard's  sad  untimely  end 
O'ertook  him  on  that  downward  path, 

Whose  pleasures  swift  to  ruin  tend. 

My  gentle  mother  drooped  and  died, 
She  was  too  frail  to  struggle  on; 

Her  heart  was  broken,  hope  was  dead, 
And  I  was  left  alone,  alone. 

Tis  years  since  then,  but  oh,  my  friends, 
Can  I  forget  what  cursed  my  life? 

My  father's  fall,  my  mother's  woe, 
Are  mcm'ries  cut  with  sorrow's  knife. 

And  'till  this  heart  shall  cease  to  throb, 
And  every  pulse  forget  to  beat, 

No  wine  for  me— shall  be  my  vow, 
No  wine  for  me— my  lips  repeat'. 

June  5th,  1884. 


130 


15r  Content 


What  is  the  use  to  fret  and  murmur, 
For  gold  or  pain  or  earthly  store? 

Which  never  fill  the  heart's  deep  yearning, 
But  only  make  us  worry  more. 

The  humblest  lot  may  have  its  pleasures, 

If  we  but  keep  a  quiet  mind, 
And  cheerfully  perform  each  duty, 

A  happiness  we'll  surely  find. 

Xot  slothful  to  improve  the  talent, 
God  gave  us  to  use  and  increase; 

For  each  one  hath  his  separate  mission, 
And  filling  that  he  shall  have  peace. 

The  earth  is  beautiful,  my  brother, 
And  full  of  joys  we  need  not  buy; 

If  we  but  only  cease  to  murmur, 
And  be  content — the  ills  will  fly. 

For  many  cares  are  but  imagined, 
And  not  the  woes  they  seem  to  be; 

Then  brace  thy  heart  to  stem  the  current, 
For  oft  thou'lt  find  a  peaceful  sea. 

The  journey  is  not  always  stormy — 
The  tempest  makes  us  prize  the  calm; 

And  struggling  by  the  rocks  and  breakers, 
We  soon  shall  reach  the  isles  of  balm. 

Oft-time  we  give  way  to  repining, 

Forgetful  of  the  joys  we  hold, 
And  which  our  hearts  would  never  barter, 

For  wealth  of  gems  or  purest  gold. 


Health,   strength  and  loved  ones,  who  re 
quite  us 

Affection  full  and  free  for  ours; 
Then  be  content  while  these  are  left  thee, 

And  prize  the  happy,  golden  hours. 

September  4th,  1884. 


jframe" 


It  may  seem  strange  to  us,  that  One 
So  good  and  pure  as  God  above, 

Could  look  on  any  creature  here, 
With  one  degree  of  love. 

Our  thoughts  and  actions  poor  and  mean, 
And  all  unworthy  of  His  smile; 

The  best  impulses  of  our  hearts, 
Sin's  taint  doth  oft  defile. 

When  evening's  shadows  close  around, 
We  see  the  day  just  left  behind 

Filled  with  sad  failures  and  mistakes, 
While  tears  repentant  blind. 

Yet  in  our  sorrow's  bitter  depths, 
The  saddest  soul  His  word  can  trust, 

And  hope  that  He  remembers  still, 
"That  we  are  only  dust." 

January  25th,  1888. 


132 


115e  fttna 


Be  kind  to  one  another; 

It  may  not  be  for  long — 
Tomorrow  you  may  sit  alone, 

And  miss  the  gladsome  song. 

Be  true  to  one  another, 

Grieve  not  the  trusting  heart — 
O  think  how  soon  Death's  hand  may  tear 

The  closest  links  apart! 

O  let  the  love  you  cherish 

Be  breathed  in  every  word — 

It  fills  the  heart  with  melody, 
And  thrills  its  sweetest  chord. 

How  brief  the  balmy  season, 

Fair  summer  fades  in  gloom! 
The  best  beloved  may  leave  your  sight, 

And  find  an  early  tomb. 

The  unkind  words  you  utter, 

May  break  your  heart  some  day, 

When  you  recall  the  look  of  pain 
In  dear  eyes  past  away. 

October  30th,  1885. 


133 


Care 


It  is  our  fate  to  be  misunderstood, 

And  blamed  for  that  in  which  we  had  no 

share; 
But  while  Heaven  sees  the  heart  and  judges 

right, 
Why  should  we  care? 

How  oft  our  kindest  acts  go  unrepaid 
With  aught  but  ill;  but  we  e'en  this  must 

bear; 
But    while    our    conscience    quits    us    of    all 

wrong, 
Why  should  we  care? 

Why  should  we  mind  the  trifling  things  of 

life, 
Which  soon  are  past  behind  the  hills  of 

Time 
To  come  no  more?     Above  these  cares  we 

see 
A  fairer  clime. 

A  land  whose  melody  is  never  marred 

By  one  harsh  note  upon  the  fragrant  air. 

These  scenes  will  flee — heaven's  glories  last 

for  aye, 
Why  should  we  care? 

May  20th,  1887. 


134 


of  <SooD  Cfteer 


There  never  was  a  heart  so  overburdened 
With  sorrow,  that  God  could  not  send  the 

balm; 
Nor   ocean    tempest-tossed    that   would    not 

settle 
At  One's  soft  whisper,  to  a  peaceful  calm. 

No  wound  can  rankle  with  a  smart  so  bitter, 
That  time's  light  touch  will  not  the  pain 

allay; 
And  though  the  sunbeams  hide  behind  the 

hill-tops, 
The  night  will  usher  in  a  joyous  day. 

We  cannot  cast  aside  the  trials  sent  us 

By  heaven,  to  purify  our  souls  from  dross; 
But    when    we    ask,    with    meek    and    lowly 

spirit, 

Our   Saviour  helps   each   one   to  bear   his 
cross. 

And   with    a  heart   that   shows    with   love  for 

Jesus, 
We    can    endure    the    pain,    for    His    dear 

sake; 
And    feel    that    every    grief    but    draws    us 

nearer, 

While   tender   chords   within    our  bosoms 
wake. 

And  then  we  must  not  nurse  our  woes  for 
ever, 

Nor  fret  o'er  trifles  in  life's  fleeting  day; 
But    with    a    brave,    bright    spirit    look    to 

heaven, 
To  guide  us  safely  through  the  misty  way. 

135 


OTljen  t\)t 


When  the  shadows  vanish 
From  our  earthly  sky, 

We  shall  know  the  "reason," 
We  shall  see  the  "why." 

Why  the  pain  and  heart-ache, 
Why  the  toil  and  care, 

If  we  bear  our  burden, 
We  shall  know  up  there. 

Oft  when  heavy  sorrow 
Bears  the  spirit  down, 

We  forget  the  promise 
Of  the  golden  crown. 

God  has  only  told  us, 

"It  is  better  so," 
While  we  love  and  trust  Him, 

Thro'  the  vale  below. 

Hopes  that  soar  beyond  us, 
O'er  life's  stormy  sea, 

We  shall  hold  forever, 
When  the  shadows  flee. 

November  22nd,  1883. 


136 


Grace  for  today,  my  Father, 

Is  what  I  ask  of  Thee; 
Tomorrow  with  its  grief  or  pain 

May  never  come  to  me. 

Strength  for  this  day  and  hour, 

0  grant  me  from  on  high, 

And  let  me  feel  each  moment  here, 
That  Thou,  my  God,  art  nigh. 

Help  for  today,  oh  Father! 

1  know  the  present  pain 

Will  vanish  with  the  hours  that  go, 
And  never  come  again. 

So  if  Thou  help  me  daily, 

To  conquer  present  foes; 
I'll  brave  each  ill,  nor  faintly  dread 

Imaginary  woes. 

Today  will  soon  be  over, 

I  ask  for  strength  this  hour, 

Life's  deep  temptations  crowd  my  way; 
Give  me  of  Thy  great  power. 

Help  me  to  keep  harsh  language 

From  lips  too  prone  to  err, 
And  may  my  deeds  be  ever  kind, 

As  Thine,  my  Saviour,  were. 

O  let  me  speak  some  comfort, 

To  cheer  the  heart  in  grief; 
And  may  my  hand  be  ever  free, 

To  minister  relief. 


137 


Strength  for  today,  oh  Father! 

Tomorrow  may  not  come; 
My  heart  may  then  be  resting  low, 

Within  its  silent  home. 

February  7th,  1884. 


{[Untrue 


How  pleasant  'tis  to  think  of  friends 
Who  wait  upon  the  further  shore, 

Where  love  is  deathless  as  the  light, 
And  hearts  are  true  forever  more. 

When  nearest  ties  are  rent  apart — 

Life's  fondest  dreams  in  darkness  fade- 

The  wounded  heart  still  looks  for  peace 
In  regions  bright  without  a  shade. 

How  oft  some  beauteous  flower  we  cull, 
But  all  unseen,  some  hidden  thorn, 

Will  sting  beneath  its  perfect  leaves, 
Ere  yet  its  loveliness  is  worn. 

No  thing  of  earth,  however  fair, 

Is  free  from  change,  or  blot,  or  rust; 

And  only  Heaven  holds  the  joys 

That  human  hearts  may  safely  trust. 


Something-  tells  me  of  a  land 
Fairer  than  the  brightest  day, 

That  can  ever  dawn  on  earth — 
In  that  region  far  away. 

Something  tells  me  I  shall  see 
Things  more  beautiful  by  far, 

Than  the  purest  gems  of  earth, 
Or  the  fairest  evening  star. 

Something  tells  me  I  shall  hear 
Melodies  so  full  and  deep 

That  my  soul  in  bliss  divine 

In  that  thrilling  wave  may  steep, 

Something  tells  me  I  shall  rest, 
On  the  shore  of  living  light, 

Fanned  by  breezes  from  those  hills, 
That  have  never  known  a  night. 

Something  tells  me  I  shall  know 
All  the  hidden  mysteries, 

That  perplex  my  spirit  here — 
I  shall  know  beyond  the  skies. 

Something  tells  me  that  up  there 
I  shall  know  zc/iy  it  was  best 

That  my  darling  must  be  torn 
From  my  loving,  faithful  breast. 

Something  tells  me,  in  that  land 
\\  here  all  pain  and  care  is  o'er, 

On  that  fair  and  peaceful  strand, 
We  shall  meet  to  part  no  more. 

Jvne  28th,  1884. 

139 


n 


When  the  sky  is  clear  and  bright, 
Thank  God  for  the  welcome  light; 
Or  if  darkest  tempests  lower, 
Look  to  him  in  sorrowT's  hour. 

When  the  heart  with  pleasure  beats, 
And  each  day  some  joy  repeats, 
Oh,  how  oft  we  do  forget, 
That  His  Hand  sustains  us  yet. 

But  when  Grief's  stern  tread  is  nigh, 
We  must  to  that  refuge  fly, 
Which  alone  can  shield  from  harm, 
Soothe  and  quiet  each  alarm. 

For  we  know  His  competence, 
To  protect  from  pestilence; 
And  without  His  tender  care, 
We  could  not  escape  the  snare. 

So,  my  Father,  let  me  be, 
In  all  things,  resigned  to  Thee; 
And  in  hours  of  joy  or  woe, 
Trust  Thee  still,  where  e'er  I  go. 

August  16th,  1884. 


140 


Hffugr 


When  the  storms  shall  darkly  gather, 

O'er  thy  heart,  on  sorrow's  sea; 
And  thy  barque  is  madly  tossing, 

While  no  harbor  thou  dost  see, 
Then  what  joy  doth  fill  thy  spirit, 

While  that  gentle  voice  repeats — 
"Fear  thou  not,  for  I  am  with  thee," 

And  the  wildest  wave  retreats. 

When  thy  cross  lies  heavy  on  thee, 

And  thy  heart  is  sinking  low — 
Jesus  walks  beside  thee,  ever, 

And  will  wipe  thy  tears  that  flow. 
And  He  speaks  in  loving  whispers — 

"I  have  borne  a  cross  for  thee, 
If  ye  love  me,  follow  after, 

And  my  joy  ye  soon  shall  see." 

O,  my  Saviour,  let  me  ever, 

Trust  Thee  thro'  life's  grief  and  pain, 
For  I  know  that  Thou  wilt  never 

Let  me  cry  to  Thee  in  vain. 
And  a  peace  pervades  my  spirit, 

While  I  know  Thou  art  with  me, 
And  where  storms  no  more  shall  gather. 

I  shall  rest  so  sweet  with  Thee. 

August  29th,  1884. 


141 


Wt  «>l)aU  2$m  again 


In  the  realms  of  glory, 

Where  no  grief  can  come, 
And  the  Day  is  Golden, 

She  has  found  a  home. 
Where  no  shade  can  ever 

Darken  her  fair  brow, 
By  the  shining  river, 

She  is  happy  now. 

But  my  heart  is  lonely. 

And  I  miss  her  so; 
Can  I  live  without  her, 

All  my  life  below? 
Oh,  my  Father  help  me! 

She  was  very  dear; 
Let  me  feel,  oh  Father, 

That  she  still  is  near. 

Let  her  spirit  guide  me, 

Through  life's  changing  scene.. 
And  her  love  surround  me, 

Like  a  charm  between. 
And  when  dark  temptations 

In  weak  hours  assail, 
If  I  feel  her  presence, 

I  shall  never  fail. 

And  I  know  that  sometime, 

I  shall  meet  her  there, 
Where  are  many  loved  ones, 

In  that  home  so  fair. 
When  life's  tide  shall  bear  me 

Toward  the  golden  main, 
'Twill  be  heavenly  rapture, 

To  think  we'll  meet  again. 

September  29th,  1884. 
142 


Believe  that  no  shadow  will  linger 
For  long,  on  the  heart  of  the  pure; 

God  sends  Grief  with  dark,  heavy  finger 
To  teach  us  to  trust  and  endure. 

Believe  that  a  sunny  tomorrow 
Is  brighter  for  clouds  of  today; 

Then  look  through  thy  tears  and  thy  sorrow 
For  joy  even  now  on  its 


Believe  that  no  matter  how  dreary, 
The  weather  will  change  by  and  by; 

Then  hope  through  the  days  that  are  weary, 
And  wait  for  a  beautiful  sky. 

As  sure  as  the  flowers  awaken, 

To  greet  the  first  smile  of  the  spring— 

The  sad  heart  that  once  felt  forsaken, 
Will  sometime  in  happiness  sing. 

Believe  that  no  loss  of  earth's  treasures, 
Is  worth  grieving  over  for  aye; 

O,  look  for  the  pure,  fadeless  pleasures, 
That  never  will  vanish  away. 

May  8th,  1886. 


143 


anti 


I  ponder  over  in  my  meditations, 

The   words,   late    spoken,   by   a   friend   in 

grief; 
Death  came  and  took  the  best-beloved,  and 

changes 
Almost  as  sad,  brought  to  him  this  belief: 

"It  is  not  best  to  place  thy  heart's  affections 
On  any  one  thing;  for  if  harm  should  fall 

To  that  dear  object,  life  for  thee  is  blighted, 
And  sorrow  shrouds  thy  heart  with  heavy 
pall." 

'Tis    well    to    prize    the    good    our    Father 

scatters, 
With  kind   and  tender   Hand   about  life's 

road; 
But    ever  keep   in   mind   that   change    must 

meet  us 
Until  we  reach  the  Beautiful  Abode. 

There   is   no  day   so   bright   that  storms   may- 
gather, 

And  veil  the  splendor  of  its  fairest  sun; 
No  flower  of  hope   so  sweet,  but  fate  may 

scatter 
Its  petals  to  the  blast,  so  drear  and  dun. 

There  is  no  friend  so  true  but  in  some   hour 
A     subtle     spell     will     breathe     a     silent 

change; 
The  unseen  power  which   brings  joy  for  a 

season, 

Will     turn     about,     and     fondest     hearts 
estrange. 

144 


Yes  "mortal  life  is  full  of  loss  and  changes." 
Yet    still    \ve    need    not    be    sad    or    cast 

down; 

For  God  has  willed  it  so,  that  we  may  ever 
Look    upward    to    the    bright    and    starry 
cro\vn. 

May  20th,   1886. 


iltgtjt 


When  life's  pathway  is  illumined 
With  the  light  of  pleasure's  glare, 

Wre  forget  the  purer  radiance 
Of  a  clime  more  clear  and  fair. 

And  the  glory  of  an  Eden, 

Where  the  star  shine  never  pales, 

Seems  e'en  dim  and  distant,  lying 
Far  beyond  earth's  sunny  vales. 

But  the  loving  Friend  who  woos  us 
From  a  sinful  world  to  Heaven, 

With  a  kind  hand  veils  the  glamor 
Of  the  joys  that  earth  hath  given. 

When  the  shades  close  thick  around  us, 
As  we  tread  a  lonely  strand, 

Ah,  how  gladly  do  we  welcome 

Hope's  fair  star  from  Heaven's  land. 


'45 


Clings  tE!jat  Cannot  Ii5e 


Always  longing — looking, 
Toward  the  farthest  star, 

Waiting  for  some  joy  ahead — 
Thus  we  mortals  arc. 

Something  in  the  distance 
Lures   our   earnest   gaze; 

And  when  it  eludes  our  grasp, 
Fairer  charm   displays. 

Bright  anticipations, 

Shine  across  the  gloom, 

And  the  untrod  paths  seem  strewn, 
With  a  fadless  bloom. 

Ever  building  structures, 

With  our  busy  brain, 
Far  too  great  and  grand  to  be 

In  life's  real  train. 

And  the  joy  that  hovers 
O'er  our  path  each  day, 

Is  discarded,  thrown  aside, 
For  a  brighter  ray. 

But  the  light  that  glimmers, 

Of  a  day  unborn, 
May  precede  a  night  of  woe. 

And  a  joyless  morn. 

Why  not  hold  the  pleasures 

Of  today,  the  best, 
Taking  life  as  it  shall  come, 

Let  the  future  rest. 

146 


And  the  things  that  tarry 
Through  a  weary  hour — 

Think  that  it  is  meant  for  good, 
By  the  Higher  Power! 

Mav  29th,  1886. 


J  ftnoto 


I  know  that  a  beautiful  city 

Is  gleaming  beyond  this  dark  vale, 

\\ "here  happiness  flows  on  forever, 
Like  rivers  that  never  shall  fail. 

1  know  that  the  world-weary  spirit 
Shall  rest  on  that  evergreen  shore, 

And  bask  in  the  sweet  breath  of  Eden. 
Which  lulls  the  safe  soul  evermore. 

1   know  that   forever  and  ever, 
The  joy  of  that  city  will  last; 

1  know  we  shall  find  a  fair  haven, 
When  life's  stormy  voyage  is  past. 


H7 


fl 


Father  of  love  and  tender  care, 

My  heart  I  lift  to  thee; 
O  wilt  thou  hear  my  earnest  prayer, 

Though  simple  it  may  be? 

O  thou  who  once  wast  tempted  here, 

And  tried  almost  too  much, 
Wilt  thou  in  pity  look  on  one, 

Who  craves  thy  healing  touch? 

My  soul  is  sick  e'en  unto  death, 
Of  every  secret  sin; 

0  cleanse  me,  save  me,  make  me  pure, 
From  every  stain  within. 

It  is  so  hard  to  walk  aright, 

And  keep  my  eyes  on  thee; 
A  wooing  voice  forever  calls 

To  death,  and  misery. 

1  would  hold  firmly  to  thy  hand,. 
I  would  keep  near  thy  side, 

For  then  no  harm  could  come  to  me — 
\Vhatever  might  betide. 

The  weakness  which  enthralls  my  heart, 

I  utterly  despise; 
To  thee  alone  I  look  for  grace, 

And  strength,  to  help  me  rise. 


148 


<Ei)c  Dinner  ILtfe 


Our  actions  may  be  fair  to  see — 

Above  reproach  that  man  can  bring, 

And  still  a  foul  blot  stain  the  heart 
From  which  those  actions  spring. 

Our  feet  may  tread  the  path  of  truth, 
Far  as  the  world  can  judge  or  say, 

And  while  our  friends  look  on  and  praise, 
We  yet  may  miss  our  way. 

'Tis  sweet  to  hear  the  cheering  words 
Of  all  our  fellow  creatures  here; 

And  when  we  strive  to  please,  we  prize 
The  world's  opinion  dear. 

But  oh,  how  transient  is  the  gleam 
Of  all  the  honors  earth  can  give, 

And  in  the  hour  they  brightest  shine 
They  yet  may  cease  to  live. 

But  when  the  heart's  intents  are  pure, 

Tho'  oft  in  execution  vile, 
\Yhile  struggling  to  amend  the  wrong, 

We  yet  may  meet  God's  smile. 

And  if  we  walk  in  lowly  ways, 

And  fail  to  gain  the  praise  of  men — 

If  God  approves,  and  stands  our  Friend, 
It  does  not  matter  then. 


I4Q 


s 


If  our  hearts  could  fathom 
All  the  griefs  ahead, 

We  would  faint  aforetime 
With  the  fear  and  dread. 

After  days  of  sorrow 

Fade  into  the  past, 
And  a  gleam  of  sunlight 

O'er  our  way  is  cast — 

Looking  back,  we  wonder 
Why  we  did  not  die; 

But  the  strength  was  given 
From  the  throne  on  high. 

So  in  every  burden 
Falling  to  our  share, 

If  we  trust  the  Father, 
He  will  help  us  bear. 

"As  thy  day  and  trial, 
Strength  is  given  thee"; 

Then  be  brave  and  hopeful; 
Trust  the  good  to  see. 

God,  in  love  and  wisdom, 
Sends  our  hearts  the  pain, 

Drawing  us  to  Heaven, 
And  the  richer  gain. 


150 


'€43  Wtil  Wt  Cannot  ftncto 


If  we  could  lift  the  veil  now  intervening 
And   look  adown   the  path   our  feet  must 

tread, 
Our  poor  affrighted  hearts  would  shrink  and 

tremble, 

And   sink   beside   the   way   with    fear   and 
dread. 

The   thought   of  grief  in    store   would   steal 

the   brightness 

From  hours  that  bring  a  sweet  delight  to 
day; 

And  many  an  added  burden  crush  the  spirit 
If  we  beyond  the  future's  mist  might  stray. 

The  Hand  that  holds  life's  grave  events  en 
shrouded, 

Is  merciful  beyond  what  we  can  feel; 
So  with  no  knowledge  of  a  sad  tomorrow, 

Our  hearts  today  enjoy  the  present  weal. 


3Jf  it  be  Best 


If  we  would  only  be  content 
To  leave  it  all  with  Him, 
And  trust  and  pray 
Through  all  the  way, 
Though  stars  were  few  and  dim, 

How  many  a  heartache  would  be  spared, 
How  many  a  tear  repressed, 

If  we  would  wrait 

Through  darkest  fate, 
And  feel  our  God  knows  best. 

We  cannot  understand,  or  see 
His  purpose  in  each  pain, 

But  He  can  bring 

From  each  sad  thing, 
A  lesson,  not  in  vain. 

No  heart  is  ever  desolate 

While  His  dear  arm  sustains, 
For  every  loss 
And  cruel  cross 
A  recompense  remains. 

The  earth  and  sea,  and  wealth  of  all, 
And  human  hearts  and  lives, 

Are  His  to  take 

Or  mend  or  break, 
And  mercy  still  survives. 

O  trust,  dear  heart,  and  rest  thee  here, 
For  time  will  prove  it  true, 

Though  griefs  descend, 

And  sorrows  rend, 
He  gives  what's  best  for  you. 

152 


ill  Jot  be  Long 


Thy  heart  is  sad,  I  know,  dear, 

And  life  seems  dark  to  thee, 
While  kneeling  by  the  new  made  grave, 

Of  one,  loved  tenderly. 

The  unknown  country,  lying 

Beyond  thy  longing  gaze, 
Seems  but  a  shadow  land  to  thee, 

Enwrapt  in  misty  haze. 

But  sure  as  time  is  fleeting, 
'Twill  bring  thee  to  thy  home, 

Where  tired  and  weary  feet  no  more 
Earth's  wilderness  shall  roam. 

'Twill  not  be  long,  remember, 

Whatever  griefs  befall — 
A  day  of  endless  joy  is  thine, 

Behind  the  jasper  wall. 


153 


VI 

IN  MEMORIAM 


3nottjrr 

In  Memory  of  Little  Henry  Graham 


Another  lily  gathered  for  the  land  of  bloom 
ing  spring; 

Another  precious  cherub  with  the  angel 
host  to  sing; 

Our  darling  swells  the  chorus  of  the  beau 
tiful  on  high, 

And  treads  the  pleasant  pathway  of  the 
City  of  the  sky. 

How   often,   ah,   how   often   do   we   have   to 

say  it  o'er; 
The  one  than  life  far  dearer,  now,  can  never 

sorrow  more; 
Our  lovely  flower  blossoms  in  a  clime  where 

frosts  can  never  fall; 
And  yet  it  seems  our  wounded  hearts  must 

break  e'en  after  all. 

How  desolate  the  home  that  late  his  pres 
ence  glorified; 

How  lonely  are  the  evenings  now  around 
the  fireside; 

A  little  golden  head  no  more  rests  on  his 
mother's  breast, 

And  with  a  nameless  woe  a  father's  heart  is 
sore  opprest. 

An  only  child — a  beauteous  boy — the  one 
sweet  hope  and  pride. 

The  sheen  upon  his  shining  hair  like  sun 
light  on  the  tide. 

157 


And  eyes  of  summer's  deepest  blue,  when 

skies  are  fair  and  clear; 
No  other  eyes  had  ever  been,  or  could  be 

half  so  dear. 

Throughout    the    dreary    hours    I    sit    and 

dream  of  days  gone  by, 
And    as    the   bright    scenes    rise    to   view    I 

breathe  a  bitter  sigh; 
While    tear-drops    steal    adown    my    chetk, 

which  yet  I  cannot  stay, 
For  ever  more   I   feel   the  loss  more   sadly 

day  by  day. 

Last   summer  when   the   roses   bloomed    so 

beautiful  and  bright, 
The    days    I    spent    within    his    home    were 

filled  with  sweet  delight; 
The  hours  flew  by  on  joyous  wing,  and  in 

our  mirth  and  glee, 
We  romped  amid  the  fragrant  flowers  and 

chatted  merrily. 

The  precious  child  was  at  my  side;  he  loved 

his  "Auntie"  so, 
And  I — ah,  many  a  time,  I  kissed  his  noble 

brow  of  snow; 
And  \vith  his  cheek  against  my  owrn  I  held 

him  yet  again, 
Nor    dreamed    how    soon    my    happy    heart 

would  ache  with  cruel  pain. 

How  swiftly  sped  my  visit  by;   I  left  with 

sad  regret, 
But  still  'twas  passing  sweet  to  think  how 

pleasantly  wre  met; 
And  now  they  tell  me  he  is  dead — the  boy 

I  loved  so  well; 
The   grief   I    feel   is   far  too   deep   for  any 

words  to  tell. 

158 


I  think  of  that  poor  mother,  as  she  sits  with 

empty  arms, 
Within  a  sorrow  shrouded  home,  robbed  of 

its  dearest  charms; 
Childless — alone — throughout    the    day    she 

lists  in  vain  to  hear 
The  ripple  of  a  merry  laugh,  from  baby  lips 

so  dear. 

The  father  coming  in  at  night    half  hopes 

to  greet  his  boy, 
As    once    in    other    days,    when    swelled    a 

parent's  pride  and  joy; 
The  little  chair  seems  once  again  to  hold  an 

angel  form; 
O  God;  our  loved  one  sleeps  tonight  out  in 

the  winter  storm. 

Two  years — two  brief  and  blissful  years,  he 

lived  to  light  earth's  way, 
With   one   bright   gleam   of  beauty   for   our 

grateful  hearts  each  day. 
We  thanked  the  Father  for  his  gift,  but  ah, 

we  had  forgot, 
It  was  but  lent;  the  flower  is  gone  and  left 

a  barren  spot. 

When  far  from  home,  the  summons  reached 
his  father  to  return, 

He  sped  in  haste,  and  all  the  way  his  anx 
ious  heart  did  yearn 

To  see  his  child  again;  the  illness  might  be 
something  grave; 

And  in  his  restless  soul  there  was  a  long 
ing,  hungry  crave. 

"The    boy!    the    boy,"    he    cries,    as  on    the 

step  his  feet  are  prest; 
What  means  the  white  and  anguished  look, 

the   countenance   distrest? 


'59 


From    one   who    ever   welcomed    him    w  th 

smiles  of  beaming  joy; 
She  leads  the  way,  and  there  they  kneel   :o- 

gether  by  the  boy. 

Pure   as   a  snow  flake,   still  and  white,   the 

lips  are  silent  now. 
The    golden    curls    rest    lovingly    upon    ihe 

marble  brow; 
The  dimpled  cheek  is  fairer  e'en  than  when 

he  saw  it  last, 
And    from    the   blue    eyes    closed,   the   light 

forever  more  is  past. 

No  tear  steals  down  the  blanching  cheek — 

the  heart  is  locked  with  woe; 
It  were  relief  if  at  this  time  the  flood  could 

wildly  flow. 
Stunned    and    amazed,    he    looks    upon    his 

child  and  tries  to  see 
His    way    through    labyrinths    of    grief    as 

bleak  as  midnight  sea. 

Again  he  sees  the  sweet  lips  part  as  in  the 
last  farewell; 

And  hears  the  tender  "Papa"  which  so  mu 
sically  fell; 

His  soul  is  stirred  with  memories  that  rend 
with  keenest  pain; 

The  rose-bud  mouth  will  never  move  in 
melody  again. 

How  deep  the  shades  that  wrap  our  hearts 

in  night  without  a  morn; 
We  miss  him  in  the  evening  and  the  day  is 

all  forlorn. 
And   ever  in   our   spirits   lives   a  voice   that 

murmurs  o'er: 
"His    dear,    sweet    face    will    never    shine 

across  our  pathway  more." 

1 60 


Yet  ever  in  our  sorrow  do  we  struggle  to 
fulfil 

Life's  first  and  sternest  duty — to  bow  to 
our  Father's  Will. 

We  ask  His  Hand  to  guide  us,  and  His 
grace  to  give  us  light — 

To  reach  our  darling  in  that  land  so  peace 
ful  and  so  bright. 


161 


alien— 31n  ^emoriam 


Dear  boy,  our  hearts  are  deeply  sad 
To  think  thy  proud  form  is  no  more; 

Thy  manly  step  and  flashing  eye, 
Have  past  unto  the  silent  shore. 

Thy  mother  bends  with  anguished  brow 
Above  her  darling  first-born  son; 

Her  fond  heart  crushed  with  woe  too  great, 
For  human  eye  to  look  upon. 

O,  if  God's  Hand  had  laid  thee  low— 
If  sickness  or  disease  had  come, 

To  call  thee  hence — we  would  have  wept 
Less  bitter  tears  o'er  this,  thy  doom. 

But  thus,  to  see  thee  snatched  away, 
By  pistol  shot,  in  one  brief  hour; 

Our  noble  boy,  so  brave  and  strong, 
To  fall  in  manhood's  opening  flower! 

Dear  Allen,  it  is  very  hard 

To  give  thee  to  the  lonely  tomb, 

When  two  or  three  short  days  ago, 

Thy    cheek    was    bright    with     healthful 
bloom. 

Farewell!    No  heart  can  prize  too  much 
The  good  which  glads  our  life  today, 

Tomorrow  may  bring  blight  and  death, 
And  sweetest  hopes  may  fade  away. 

February  18th,  1885. 


162 


3fin  spemorp  of  Cornelia 


Once  more  I  am  at  home  again, 
And  sad  the  weeks  have  been, 

Which  promised   rest  and  happiness, 
For  death  hath  stepped  between. 

I  cannot  realize  e'en  yet 

That  thou  hast  past  away, 
And  I  may  no  more  look  on  thee, 

Until  the  last  great  Day. 

A  few  short  weeks  ago  and  thou 
\Yast  happy,  in  life's  bloom, 

But  now  upon  the  quiet  hill 
Thy  form  rests  in  the  tomb. 

Dear  sister,  if  I  could  have  known 
That  we  should  meet  no  more, 

I  never  would  have  gone  away — 
This  thought  comes  o'er  and  o'er. 

When  day  by  day  I  watched  beside 

The  couch  of  one  I  love, 
And  thought  the  Messenger  had  come 

To  bear  his  soul  above, 

It  seemed  my  heavy  heart  could  bear 

No  heavy  blow  again; 
But  when  they  told  me  you  were  dead, 

I  felt  a  deeper  pain. 

And  when  it  seemed  that  he  must  die, 

I  thought  in  my  despair: 
If  God  will  give  me  back  my  boy 

Life  ne'er  can  have  a  care. 

163 


And  now  we  are  at  home  again — - 

My  darling  almost  well; 
But  there's  a  grief  within  my  heart 

Which  time  can  never  quell. 

They  tell  me  that  she  called  for  me 

E'en  to  the  very  last; 
And  in  my  breast  one  keen  regret 

Will  live  till  life  is  past. 

While  many  a  mournful  mile  between 
Kept  me  from  her  dear  side, 

My  hand  upon  her  burning  brow 
Was  e'en  in  death  denied. 

But  oh,  dear  heart,  'tis  sweet  to  think. 

You  loved  me  in  that  hour 
And  wanted  me;  some  day  we'll  meet 

Beyond  Death's  blighting  power. 

I  wonder  if  on  Eden's  shore, 

Amidst  the  angel  band, 
There  is  a  face  as  fair  as  thine 

In  all  that  shining  land. 

You  were  as  beautiful  and  bright 
As  summer's  sweetest  rose, 

When  sparkling  with  the  pearly  dew 
Its   fragrant  leaves  unclose. 

Your  lovely  eyes  were  soft  and  deep. 

And  blue  as  June's  own  skies; 
How  many  a  heart  hath  felt  the  charm, 

And  thrilled  'neath  those  blue  eyes. 

The  shining  bands  of  chestnut  hair 
Waved  from  a  snowy  brow; 

And  crowned  thy  proud  and  regal  head 
With  wealth  a  queen  might  show. 

164 


O  queenly  head!  O  rare  blue  eyes! 

O  perfect,  faultless  face! 
How  sad  to  think  the  grave  must  be 

For  aye  thy  resting  place! 

The  soft  sad  sigh  of  autumn  winds 

Seem  murmuring  thy  name, 
And  thro'  the  boughs  above  thy  head 

They  chant  thy  requiem. 

The  changing  leaves  which  fall  around, 

Remind  me  all  must  die; 
It  may  be  ere  they  bloom  again, 

Beneath  them  I  shall  lie. 

The  many  friends  who  come  to  bid 

Me  welcome  home  again, 
Remind  me  that  one  dear  kind  face, 

My  heart  will  seek  in  vain. 

It  is  not  home  without  thee,  dear — 

The  home  which  late  I  left, 
For  of  thy  cheering  presence  I 

Am  ever  more  bereft. 

But  oh,  there  is  a  deeper  sigh 
Than  aught  my  bosom  feels, 

Beside  a  desolate  fireside 
A  lonely  husband  kneels. 

Three  lovely  children  wait  in  vain 

Thy  kiss  upon  each  brow, 
And  weep  to  miss  the  fond  sweet  words 

From  lips  so  silent  now. 

Beyond  the  golden  sunset  ray — 

Beyond  the  gates  of  light, 
Her  spirit  rests  in  long  sweet  peace, 

Where  never  falls  the  night. 

165 


And  while  we  walk  in  sadness  here, 
And  bear  our  grief  and  pain, 

We  know  that  thou,  beyond  the  gloon, 
Wilt  never  weep  again. 

When  life's  sad  partings  all  are  o'er, 

And  bitter  tears  are  dried, 
We'll  meet  in  joy,  and  peace  and  love, 

Upon  the  other  side. 

Farewell,  my  sister  and  my  friend, 
Farewell  'till  life  shall  cease; 

May  Heaven  guide  me  in  the  way, 
To  thee,  and  happiness. 

September  18th,  1885. 


166 


31n  spemon?  of  Sinnit 


O'er  the  dreary  fields  and  meadows, 

Where  the  brown  leaves  scattered  lie — 
Mournfully  the  bleak  winds  whisper: 

"Everything  on  earth  must  die." 
Spring  with  bloom  and  beauty  lingered 

But  to  charm  us  for  awhile; 
Ah,  how  soon  she  fled,  and  left  us 

Only  memories  of  her  smile! 
Slimmer  flowers  flung  out  their  sweetness 

On  the  balmy  winds  of  June, 
And  a  thousand  voices  cheered  us 

While  the  glad  heart  was  in  tune. 
But  the  blue,  blue  skies  of  summer 

Could  not  last  beyond  their  time, 
And  the  autumn  days  were  lovely 

In  this  sunny,  southern  clime. 
But  the  golden  tinted  splendors 

Faded  from  each  twig  and  bough, 
And  the  wintry  breath  hath  blighted 

Roses  that  are  withered  now. 
And  the  dull  grey  skies  that  hover 

O'er  the  hills  of  misty  gloom, 
Are  as  cheerless  as  my  spirit, 

Where  each  hope  is  in  its  tomb! 
From  the  sad  hours  of  the  present, 

Full  of  bitter  grief  for  me, 
Constantly  my  thoughts  stray  backward 

To  the  days  of  joy  and  glee; 
And  I  ask,  "Oh,  was  it  really 

7  who  once  was  light  and  gay, 
Or  can  time  with  gentle  fingers 

Ever  soothe  my  pain  away?" 

167 


Mournfully  the  bleak  winds  whisper, 

And  the  naked  branches  wave; 
While  the  wintry  rain  is  falling, 

On  that  far-off,  new-made  grave! 
Fancy  brings  the  joyous  hours 

Of  my  fair  unclouded  youth, 
And  I  live  again  that  season, 

Which  wras  sweet  with  love  and  truth. 
What  a  merry  band  was  ours! 

Boys  and  girls  with  happy  hearts — 
Warm  and  true  as  summer  sunlight, 

Knowing  naught  of  sorrow's  dart*.. 
In  the  sweet  June  days  we  wandered, 

Hand  in  hand,  through  shaded  dells, 
Searching  for  the  wild  flowers  hiding 

In  the  mossy  nooks  and  fells. 
And  a  little  darling  sister 

Raised  her  brown  eyes  to  mine  own, 
WThile  I  stooped  to  lift  her  over 

Fallen  log,  or  craggy  stone. 
When  the  baby  form  grew  weary, 

And  the  tiny  feet  would  rest — 
In  my  arms  I  carried  Annie, 

With  her  head  upon  my  breast. 
And  her  little  hands  would  pull  me 

Down  to  meet  her  tender  kiss, 
While  her  gentle  heart  seemed  happy 

With  a  pure  and  perfect  bliss. 
And  I  loved  her  fondly,  dearly, 

For  she  was  a  winsome  thing; 
With  her  baby  ways  so  cunning, 

She  around  our  hearts  did  cling. 
Mother  called  her  "Nut-brown  maiden/ 

For  the  dark  tint  of  her  face 
Made  her  so  unlike  the  others, 

Full  of  love  and  beauteous  grace. 

1 68 


Brownie,  elf,  or  fairy  spirit, 

She  was  every  one's  sweet  pet, 
And  her  large  dark  eyes  so  earnest, 

I  can  never  more  forget. 
Eyes  that  haunt  me  through  the  darkness, 

Which  surrounds  my  spirit  so, 
And  they  shine  with  love  and  gladness, 

As  in  days  of  long  ago. 
Breaking  heart,  be  still;   thy  darling 

Sleeps  beneath  the  winter  rain; 
And  that  precious  head  will  never 

Nestle  on  thy  breast  again! 
O,  my  God,  help  me  to  struggle 

With  this  bitter,  bitter  grief! 
Death  must  still  these  throbbing  pulses 

If  I  cannot  find  relief! 
Day  by  day  I  weep,  recalling 

Joys  that  are  forever  dead, 
While  it  seems  no  star  can  ever 

O'er  my  life  its  radiance  shed. 
And  the  happy  family  circle 

Nevermore  will  be  complete; 
For  that  loved  and  cherished  sister, 

Ah,  we  cannot  hope  to  meet! 
Well  I  mind  one  lovely  summer — 

And  the  last  I  spent  at  home 
With  dear  Annie,  for  she  left  it, 

By  another's  side  to  roam. 
But  those  blissful  days  will  linger 

With  me  till  my  life  is  o'er, 
And  in  dreams  I  see  sweet  Annie 

Standing  at  the  cottage  door. 
Let  me — if  the  tears  permit  me — 

Call  that  picture  to  mine  eyes; 
Surely  ne'er  a  blossom  fairer 

Bloomed  beneath   the  azure   skies. 

169 


Sixteen  happy  summers  rested 

Lightly  on  that  bright  young  head 
Taller  than  the  rest — she  charmed  us 

With  her  proud  and  queenly  tread. 
And  her  form  of  moulded  beauty, 

Perfect  in  each  curve  and  line — 
Would  have  shamed  the  purest  marble, 

That  a  sculptor's  dreams  combine 
On  that  brow  so  high  and  noble, 

Beautiful  beyond  compare, 
Where  the  brown  curls  softly  clustered — 

Intellect  \vas  stamped,  so  rare, 
And  those  eyes  of  dusky  shadows, 

Fringed  with  lashes  long  and  black, 
Gleamed  like  midnight  splendors  shining 

From   the  heaven's  starry  track. 
Deepest  tints  of  health's  bright  roses 

Glowed  upon  her  olive  cheek, 
And  the  whitest  pearls  were  hidden, 

Till  those  ruby  lips  would  speak. 
And  her  voice — wras  ever  music 

Half  so  full  and  clear  and  sweet? 
When  she  sang — entranced,  bewildered, 

All  would  own  the  charm  complete. 
In  the  fragrant  summer  evenings 

She  would  sit  for  hours  and  play, 
And  our  souls  drank  in  the  music, 

Woke  by  hands  that  noiv  are  clay! 
It  would  kill  me  now  to  listen 

To  the  songs  she  used  to  sing; 
Sweetly,  sadly  dear,  they  echo 

Round  me  like  some  holy  thing. 
And  1  think  the  heavenly  anthems 

Must  be  sweeter  for  that  voice, 
For  the  angels  surely  taught  her 

Strains  that  made  our  hearts  rejoice. 

170 


I  remember  when  we  parted 

At  the  old  home  far  away, 
\Yith  her  head  upon  my  bosom, 

How  my  darling  wept  that  day! 
And  she  said,  between  her  sobbing, 

"Sister,  do  not  go  away, 
Stay  with  us  a  little  longer; 

We  have  been  so  happy,  stay." 
But  the  voice  of  duty  called  me 

To  my  other,  distant  home, 
And  my  pleasant  visit  ended, 

?Sow  the  parting  hour  had  come. 
Good-byes  said  'mid  tears  and  choking, 

Heaving  breast  and  aching  heart, 
And  again  I  tread  the  pathway, 

\Yhich  hath  borne  our  lives  apart. 
Mournfully  the  bleak  winds  whisper, 

And  the  naked  branches  wave, 
\\  hile  the  winter  rain  is  falling, 

On  the  far-off,  new-made  grave. 
Night  to  me  brings  no  refreshing, 

On  my  restless  couch  I  weep; 
But  her  breast  is  calm  and  tranquil, 

In  that  long  and  dreamless  sleep. 
Can  it  be,  oh,  Annie,  loved  one, 

Thou  art  resting  in  the  tomb — 
Nevermore  to  glad  my  vision, 

With   thy  womanhood's  fair  bloom? 
Beautiful  and  gifted  sister — 

Talented  as  few  have  been; 
In  the  halls  of  mirth  and  pleasure, 

Annie  reigned,  a  very  queen. 
O  my  heart  yearns  for  my  sister, 

With  a  wild  intensity, 
While  the  storms  beat  down  above  her- 

Can  it  be,  oh,  can  it  be? 

171 


I  have  tried  to  crush  my  anguish, 

Thinking  of  her  blissful  lot, 
Free  from  suffering  and  sorrow, 

Every  pain  and  care  forgot. 
And  I  strive  to  thank  the  Father 

For  His  dear  and  tender  love, 
Gathering  our  lovely  flower, 

For  that   fairer  clime  above. 
On  my  knees  I  ask  for  guidance 

Through  this  long  and  rayless  night; 
And  may  He  who  knows  my  sorrow, 

Lead  me  safely  to  the  right. 

0  why  can  I  not  be  patient, 
Trusting  that  the  time  is  near, 

When  my  raptured  eyes  shall  linger 

On  that  angel  form  so  dear! 
If  I  could  have  knelt  beside  her— 

Ere  her  spirit  took  its  flight- 
Heard  her  once  more  whisper  "Sister," 

'T would  have  brought  my  soul  delight: 
And  I  would  have  said,  "My  darling, 

If  in  all  our  childhood  years, 

1  have  ever  spoke  unkindly, 
Bringing  to  those  sweet  eyes,  tears; 

O  forgive,  forgive  me,  loved  one, 

For  you  were  so  dear  to  me, 
If  I  could  have  spared  thee  sorrow, 

I'd  have  died,  ah,  willingly!" 
And  I  know  my  little  sister 

Would  have  spoken  words  so  dear, 
For  the  angels  bending  o'er  her 

Filled  her  heart  with  gladsome  cheer. 
When  the  end  was  near  approaching, 

And  her  sun  had  almost  set, 
Taking  from  her  hand  a  jewel: 

"Mamma,  you  will  not  forget, 

172 


Send  this  ring  to  Sister;  tell  her 

That  I  loved  her  to  the  last, 
And  I  hope  we'll  met  in  heaven, 

When  life's  stormy  day  is  past; 
Papa  do  not  let  me  see  you 

Grieve  because  I'll  sing  no  more 
On  this  earth — I  will  be  singing 

Sweeter  on  that  peaceful  shore." 
But  that  father  loved  his  song-bird, 

And  he  could  not  see  her  go, 
Keeping  back  the  tears  now  stealing 

Down  his  cheek  with  steady  flow. 
Though  she  tried  to  give  us  comfort, 

With  her  words  so  bright  and  sweet, 
Loving  hearts  must  break  at  parting 

When  they  no  more  hope  to  meet. 
But  thank  God  a  day  is  dawning, 

When  we'll  have  our  own  again! 
In  that  land  of  light  and  beauty, 

We  shall  feel  no  grief  or  pain, 
From  her  bed  of  sad  affliction — 

Which  the  Saviour  helped  her  bear- 
She  hath  passed  to  worlds  of  glory, 

Where  can  come  no  breath  of  care. 
"Jesus  in  my  heart,  dear  mamma, 

Keeps   me   in   this   trying  hour," 
Were  her  words,  and  shall  we  ever 

Doubt   His  sweet  protecting  power? 
"Mamma,  I  will  be  the  angel 

Ministering  to  you  here, 
And  while  I  am,  oh  so  happy 

Do  not  let  your  life  be  drear." 
Father,  in  Thy  love  and  mercy, 

Comfort  hearts  that  pine  and  ache; 
Let  us  feel  Thine  Arm   sustaining — 

Comfort  us,  for  Jesus'  sake. 
December  7th,  1885. 
173 


Ceaseless  }jDam 


Sweet   Annie,    two    sad   years    have   passei 

away, 
Since  last  I  saw  thy  loved  and  cherished 

face; 

And  on  this  fair  spring  evening,  I  remember 
Thy  tender  look,  and  warm  embrace. 

O,  darling,  if  I  could  have  known  that  day, 
When  last  your  precious  head  lay  on  my 
heart — 

That  we  should  never  meet  again,  my  spir.t 
Could  not  have  borne  its  bitter  part. 

When   first   I   knew   that  you   were  gone,   I 

thought 
The    grief    too    great    my    poor    heart    to 

sustain; 
And   hoped    as    new   days    carne    that   Time 

would  soften 
The  smart  of  one  relentless  pain. 

But    azure    skies    and    song-birds    singing 

sweet, 

Cannot  restore  the  joys  I  lost  with  thee; 
And  while  bright  Spring  is  tripping  o'er  the 

meadows, 
I  sigh  for  thee,  yes,  constantly. 

April  10th,  1886. 


We  miss  our  darling  sorely  day  by  day, 
And    never   breathe    her   name   without   a 
sigh; 

And  when  at  eventide  we  kneel  to  pray, 
\Ye  ask  to  meet  her  in  the  starry  sky. 

The  mourning  winds  tell  of  a  winter  nigh, 
Full   soon   to  break  the   summer's  mystic 

spell; 
The   sweet   birds   with   a   low   and   plaintive 

cry, 

End    the    bright    dream    in    murmurs    of 
farewell. 

And  surely  as  the  golden  hours  will  flee, 
To  sleep  beneath  the  chill,  and  frost,  and 

gloom. 
The   hopes    which    gladdened   happy   hearts 

will  be 
In  dust  and  ashes — never  more  to  bloom. 

And    when    a    shadow    steals    between    the 

light, 

\\  hile  we  in  sorrow  plod  our  weary  way, 
We  love  to  think  that  in  her  home  so  bright 
Our  loved  one  shares  the  bliss  of  endless 
Day. 

No    grief   can    touch    her   pure    and    sinless 

breast; 

No    thorn    can    ever    pierce    her    precious 
feet; 

175 


And  in  our  Father's  love  her  soul  doth  rest, 
Where    every    fond,    sweet    dream    is    all 
complete. 

However  much  we  loved  her  in  this  l.fe, 
We   could   not   shield   her   from   its    cruel 

pain; 
But    there — oh,    there,    no    dark    and    bitter 

strife, 
Can  bring  a  tear  her  lovely  cheek  to  stain. 

Our  Father  loved  her,  and  shall  we  regret 
Her  entrance  into  everlasting  bliss? 

Ah,  no!  but  loving  hearts  cannot  forget, 
Or   cease    to    mourn    for    one    they    sadly 
miss. 

October  2,  1886,. 


176 


lire 


Thro'  blinding  tears  I  see  a  beauteous  form; 

"So  like  a  lily  rare,"  and  oh,  how  dear! 
That  gentle   presence  filled  our  home  with 

joy, 

Her  voice's   low  music   charmed   our  lis 
tening  ear. 

0  tiny  fragile  form,  so  fairy-like! 

It  breaks  my  heart  to  think,  it  is  no  more; 

1  seem  to  hear  her  footstep  tripping  light, 
To  greet  my  coming,  ere  I  reach  the  door. 

I    see    once    more    her   dear   sweet    face   up 
turned, 

To  meet  a  husband's  passionate  caress, 
Dear  little  hands  that  cling  about  his  neck, 
And  loving  eyes,  that  look  love's  tender 
ness. 

A  mother's  idol,  and  a  father's  pride, 

The   sunlight   of   that   home,  so   darkened 
now, 

O  darling,  may  we  never,  never  more, 
Imprint  one  kiss  upon  your  lovely  brow? 

O  soft  sweet  eyes  so  beautiful  and  true! 
O   dear  blue   eyes   that   thrilled   our   souls 

with  joy! 
How  often  when   that  sweet   gaze  met  our 

own, 

We'd    feel    that    angels    held    thy    heart's 
employ. 

177 


I  love  to  think  of  those  fair,  peaceful  years, 
Ere    thou   hadst    felt    one   breath    of   that 

dark  blight, 
Which    robbed    thy   young   life    of   its    rcsy 

bloom, 

And  clothed  our  saddened  hearts  in  deep 
est  night. 

And    those    sweet   years   were   not  so   long 

ago; 
Not    two    have    passed    since    thou    didst 

droop  and  pale, 

And  like  a  broken  lily's  fading  breath, 
Thy    gentle    life    past    from    this    earthly 
vale. 

Sweet  Rosa  Lee!  Thy  guileless  spirit  leaves 
An  influence  that  will  bless  the  years  to 

come; 

We  cannot  feel  that  thou  hast  past  away, 
Thy  presence  seems  to  linger  round  our 
home. 

Thro'  weary  years  thy  little  son  must  miss 
His     mother's     kiss     upon     his     youthful 

check, 

The  sweet  "good-night,"  the  whispered  ten 
der  word, 

Ah,   never   more   that   mother's   lips   may 
speak. 

But  oh,  can  this  be  death,  so  beautiful! 
I  hold  my  breath  and  gaze  in  mute  sur 
prise; 

Speak  to  me  darling,  for  methinks  I  see, 
The  waxen  lids  lift  from  those  wondrous 
eyes. 

178 


That    marble    brow    is    calm    and    peaceful 
now, 

No  suffering  can  ever  cloud  it  more; 
I  kiss  the  waves  of  softest  flaxen  hair, 

And  almost  smile  to  think  her  pain  is  o'er. 

I  lay  my  cheek  against  her  bosom's  snow, 
And    almost    hear    her    heart    beat    once 
again; 

So  lovely  and  so  life-like!  can  it  be, 

That  I   shall  listen  for  thy  voice  in  vain? 

0  precious  hands,  so  pure,  so  white,  so  still! 
That  once  met  mine  with  clinging  tender 

touch; 

But  now  so  fair  and  cold!  O  help  me  God, 
To  live  without  the  one  I  loved  so  much! 

"My  hope  is  bright,  my  trust  is  strong,"  she 

said, 

"For    Jesus    walks    beside    me    thro'    the 
wave, 

1  know  he  will  not  leave  me  in  this  hour, 
For  His  dear  arm  is  powerful  to  save." 

"O  do  not  weep  to  see  me  pass  away, 
For  it  is  sweet  to  lay  the  burden  down; 

But  meet  me  in  that  home  of  peace  and  rest, 
Where    weary    spirits    wear    a    robe    and 
crown." 

And    thus    our    darling    passed    beyond    the 

gates 

Of  golden  light,  to  mansions   of  the  sky; 
The  soul  too  pure  for  earth  has  winged  its 

flight, 
To  regions  of  the  glorified  on  high. 

179 


A  lily  gathered  for  that  fairer  clime, 

A    lovely    flower     to    bloom    in    Eden's 

bowers; 

O  would  we  call  her  back  to  earth  again; 
From     her    sweet    home,     to    bless    and 
brighten  ours? 

O  Father  strengthen  hearts  so  sorely  tried, 

And  purify  our  love  from  all  earth-taint, 

O    give    us    grace    to    walk   with    faith    and 

hope, 

That  we  may  meet  her  there,  our  precicus 
saint! 

0  joy  beyond  what  mortal  lips  can  speak, 
When    Rosa    Lee    shall    come    to    call    us 

home, 

1  seem  to  see  her  blue  eyes  brighten  now7, 

I  almost  hear  her  angel  whisper  "come." 

Methinks  I  hear  the  rustle  of  soft  wings; 

I  love  to  think  that  she  is  still  with  me, 
A  quiet  voice  speaks  in  my  spirit's  depths, 

"She'll  be  thine  own  thro'  all  eternity." 


180 


[In  tender  memory  of  my  beloved  and 
life-long  friend,  Mrs.  D.  L.  Barnes,  who 
passed  over  the  Great  Divide  on  the  even 
ing  of  December  14th,  1911.] 

While  bleak  and  chill  the  wintry  winds 
Are  sighing  o'er  the  withered  flowers, 

Our  heads  are  bowed  in  bitter  grief, 

And  sorrow  wrings  these  hearts  of  ours. 

O,  nevermore,  at  eventide, 

Beside  the  hearthstone's  ruddy  glow, 
Shall  pleasant  converse  warm  our  hearts, 

While  we  thy  lovely  presence  know. 

Sad  days  must  pass  on  broken  wing; 

Through  lonely  hours  we  weep  for  thee; 
For  life  hath  not  too  many  friends, 

Like  thee,  so  firm  in  constancy. 

Adown  the  sweep  of  time  that  steals 
Far  back  into  our  girlhood  years, 

The  sad  heart  clings  to  days  gone  by 
Which  fondest  mem'ry  still  endears. 

O,  never  once,  hath  friendship's  bond 
Between  thy  heart  and  mine,  been  strained 

With  any  shade,  or  thought  of  change, 
Or  sweet  affection  ever  waned. 

O,  can  it  be,  that  I  no  more 

Shall  see  thy  face,  so  loved  and  dear? 
The  richest  blessings  time  can  give 

Cannot  restore  the  yester-year. 

181 


I  cannot  feel  that  thou  art  gone 

So  far  away,  dear,  after  all; 
Tho'  yet  a  while  we  linger  here, 

Within  the  shadowed  evening  fall. 

Forever,  in  our  hearts  must  live 
The  beauty  of  thy  spirit's  grace; 

And  time  can  never  hide  away 
The  features  of  thy  lovely  face. 

Dear  eyes  as  blue  as  summer  skies, 
And  marble  brow,  so  smooth  and  fair; 

The  sunlight  loved  to  linger  on 
The  golden  ripples  of  thy  hair. 

So  good,  so  sweet,  so  angel  like, 

It  is  so  hard  to  see  thee  go; 
E'en  while  we  feel  that  thou  no  more 

Canst  know  the  touch  of  earthly  woe. 

We  praise  God  for  thy  blameless  life, 
So  rich  and  full  of  heavenly  grace; 

Thy  gentle  heart  that  shed  its  love 
So  free  earth  seemed  a  better  place, 

That  thou  didst  come  to  dwell  awrhile 
To  smile  and  cheer,  and  bless  our  lives; 

The  great  divide  that  lies  between, 
To  thee,  a  clearer  vision  gives. 

Adieu,  sweet  friend,  in  God's  dear  love, 
We  hope  to  clasp  thy  hand  once  more, 

And  face  to  face  walk  in  the  light 
Of  Heaven's  fair,  eternal  shore. 


182 


VII 
MISCELLANEOUS 


C?onorrfc  Calling 


The  faithful  teacher's  earnest  work, 

Of  all  life's  great  vocations, 
Is  one  among  those  honored  most, 

By  all  the  world's  great  nations. 

To  lead  the  mind  of  wayward  }routh 

Along  the  path  of  glory; 
And  train  the  thoughts  in  wisdom's  way 

It  is  a  beauteous  story. 

Their's  be  the  lot  to  work  and  wait; 

The  seed  now  sown  in  sorrow 
Will  bud  and  bloom  and  bless  the  land, 

On  some  bright  coming  morrow. 

And  still  our  hearts  rejoice  to  know 

The  noble  work  progresses; 
O,  faithful  teacher,  be  revived, 

Your  work  the  nation  blesses. 

Your's  is  the  labor  ne'er  repaid 
With  gold  or  worldly  gainings; 

And  oft  perhaps  you  needs  must  hear 
Some  murmurs  and  complainings. 

Yet  still  within  your  spirit's  depths 

A  gentle  voice  is  telling, 
In  tones  that  bring  a  quiet  peace — 

Of  purest  fountains  welling. 

The  fountain  which  your  wrork  supplies 
Of  wisdom's  lasting  sweetness; 

Your  mission  filled,  your  life  shall  end 
With  one  sublime  completeness. 

185 


tyeart 


O,  restless  heart,  crush  back  thy  ceaseless 

sighing, 

And  longing  after  what  can  never  be; 
Why    beat    against    the    bars    till    torn    and 

bleeding? 
Some  day  a  tender  hand  will  set  thee  free. 

O,  heart  impatient,  wait  a  little  longer; 

Life  does   not  hold   the  peace   for  which 

you  sigh; 
But  in  the  spirit  land  sweet  rest  is  promisee , 

To  those  who  pass  the  portals  of  the  sky. 

Why  fret  thyself  o'er  the  inevitable, 

Or   weep    for   things    which   were    not   meant 

for  thee? 
For   what   thy    soul    doth   lack   to    make    it 

happy, 
Is  waiting  in  a  sweet  eternity. 

And  even  if  thy  hand  could  grasp  the  treas 
ures 
Which    seem    the    best    and    brightest    to 

thee  now — 
Thy  heart's  desire  might  prove  a,  curse  so 

bitter, 

That  to  the  end  of  life  thy  tears  would 
flow. 

For  oft  the  thing  we  long  for  with  heart 

burnings, 
Brings    only   gall   and   wormwood    in   its 

train; 

So,  heart,  be  satisfied  till  heaven  gives  thee 
A  joy  that  never  feels  a  throb  of  pain. 


186 


31n  ®t\)tt  gears 


In  other  years,  some  soft  voice  will  awaken 
The    mem'ry    of    these    hours,    so    bright 
and  fair; 

Perhaps    thy    heart    will    fondly    keep    and 

cherish, 
Some  little  gift— a  tress  of  silky  hair. 

It  may  be,   that   thou  dost  not  deem  them 
golden, 

These    hours,    which    pass    by    thee    un 
heeded  now; 

Yet  thou  mayest  live  to  look  back  to  this 
season, 

And  realize  it  was  the  best— to  know, 

That  thou  wast  happy,  tho'  thy  heart  was 

careless, 

Nor  half  appreciated  all  life's  good; 
Then   thou   wilt  sigh   to   think   of  joys   de 
parted, 

"Which     bathed     thy     sunny     youth     with 
golden  flood. 

Then,     oh,    my    friend,    be    happy    in    the 

present; 
For   every   hour  may   hold   some   joy   for 

thee, 

If  thou  wilt  find  it;  life  is  short,  remember, 
Thy  barque  will  soon  have  glided  o'er  the 
sea. 

In  other  years  thou'lt  sigh,  "O  for  one  hour 

Of  those  sweet  days  which  past  so  lightly 
by"; 

So    make     the     most     of    life     to-day,    my 
brother, 

Time  soon  will  merge  into  eternity. 
November  15th,  1884. 

187 


(Eafce  Life  as  3!t 


We  cannot  make  the  sun  to  shine, 

Or  clouds  to  flee  away; 
But  with  a  cheerful  heart  we  can 

Enjoy  the  good  today. 

When  shadows  close  the  portals  where 

The  glory  once  did  shine, 
'Twere  better  far  to  wait  and  hope, 

Than  in  despair  repine. 

"This  life  is  what  w7e  make  it," 

I  have  never  yet  believed; 
And  he  who  thinks  to  govern  fate, 

Will  surely  be  deceived. 

Life's  sun  and  shade  go  hand  in  hand, 

For  every  joy  a  grief; 
So  take  it  as  it  is  my  friend, 

For  mortal  things  are  brief. 

How  pleasant  'tis  to  think  that  One 

Above  directs  our  way, 
And  while  His  arm  supports,  our  feet 

Can  never  go  astray. 

So  when  the  rain  doth  fall,  our  hearts 

Will  surely  better  grow; 
As   summer   showers   refresh   the   charms 

Of  flowers  that  sweetly  blow. 


188 


a  Little  l£)trilr 


A   little   while,   and   gloom    shall   change   to 

glory; 
The  light  of  golden  morn  shall  crown  the 

hills; 
Each     new-born     day     repeats     the     sweet, 

sweet  story, 
Which  ever  with  delight  the  spirit  thrills. 

A  little  while  life  shall  be  thine  to  labor, 
Then  do  the  good  you  can,  though  small 
it  be; 

If  but  a  kind  word  spoken  to  thy  neighbor, 
'Twill  live  to  bless  thee  in  eternity. 

A      little      while      shall      griefs      thy      heart 

embitter, 
With   deep   regret   for  things  that  "might 

have  been"; 
Thine    eyes    shall    soon    behold    the    golden 

glitter 

Of    things    that    shine    with    fairer,    purer 
sheen. 

A  little   while,  and  wildest  billows   roaring, 
Shall     hear     the     "Peace     be     still,"     and 

tranquil    lie, 
And     thy     freed      soul,     in     happiness,     be 

soaring 

Above     tierce     waves     and     dark,     storm- 
driven    sky. 

A  little  while,  and  loved  ones  may  be  taken 
To  join  the  beautiful,  white-robed  throng; 

On    some    sad    morn,    thy    lone    heart    may 

awaken 
To  miss  the  love-lit  eyes  and  happy  song. 

1 80 


Then,   oh!   be  kind   and   gentle   while   they 
linger, 

And  let  no  sullen  frown  meet  love's  soft 
smile; 

It    may    be,    Death    will    come    with    silent 
ringer, 

And  steal  thy  treasures,  ere  a  little  while. 


The  saddest  days  are  often  those 
I  thought  would  be  the  best; 

And  hours  that  promised  sweetest  jo}r, 
Leave  me  with  aching  breast. 

How  often  my  expectant  heart 

Hath  dwelt  on  one  delight; 
But  ah,  a  summer  day  can  end 

In  skies  of  blackest  night. 

A  summer  dream  can  hold  our  life 
In  charms  for  one  short  while; 

But  soon  'tis  past,  and  wintry  blank 
Will  follow  summer's  smile. 

But  then  a  lesson  I  have  learned, 
Through  many  a  bitter  pain: 

To  look  for  perfect  pleasure  here 
Is  utterly  in  vain. 

July  llth,  1885. 

190 


after  ttje  parting 


When  the  farewell  words  are  spoken, 
And  the  friend  has  passed  from  sight, 

How  the  heart  looks  back  with  yearning, 
To  a  vanished  season's  light. 

And  we  think  with  fond  remembrance, 
Of  their  virtues  which   arise, 

Hiding  every  fault  and  failing 

From  our  sad  and  tear-dimmed  eyes. 

And  we  pray  that  they  will  cherish 
Kindly  thoughts  of  us  the  while, 

And  forget  the  frown  which  met  them, 
When  it  should  have  been  a  smile. 

Oh,  how  plainly  do  the  visions 
Of  the  past  time  rise  to  view! 

With  clear  eyes  we  see  each  action, 
Whether  false,  or  pure  and  true. 

And  the  memory  of  harshness — 

If  we  e'er  have  been  unkind, 
Will  awake  to  be  the  torment 

Of  a  deeply  troubled  mind. 

It  were  better,  yes,  far  better, 
And  might  save  a  world  of  woe, 

Wrould  we  try  to  live  each  hour 
As  the  last  we'd  ever  know. 

As  the  last!  Ah,  who  can  tell  thee 
That  another  breath  is  thine? 

For  thy  sun  may,  ere  the  morrow, 
Cease  forever  more  to  shine. 


191 


Sad  farewells  are  ever  breathing 
On  the  winds  that  come  and  go. 

And  life's  cruel,  bitter  partings 
Make  the  sum  of  human  woe. 

But  beyond  the  grief  and  sadness 
Joy  shall  live  without  a  smart; 

In  that  land  of  pleasant  meetings, 
We  shall  know  each  faithful  heart, 

January  13th,  1887, 


Hecall 


We  cannot  bid  the  vanished  hour  return, 
That  once  was  beautiful  with  rosy  glow; 

Nor  woo  one  blossom  from  the  silent  urn, 
Where  ashes  of  life's  sweetness  moulder 
now. 

We  cannot  blot  the  words  from  mem'ry's 

page, 
Which    once    we    spoke    in    thoughtless, 

hasty  breath, 

Time  hath  no  balm  to  soften  or  assuage 
Regret,   which    only   leaves    the   heart   in 
death. 

We  cannot  with  love's  tender  hands  undo 
The  sad  mistake  of  bitter  days  gone  by; 

But  only  hope,  some  day,  hearts  pure  and 

true, 
May  know  us  as  we  are,  beyond  the  sky. 

IQ2 


How  kind  is  the  greeting  you  send  me, 

And  sweet  is  the  message  it  brings; 
While  over  the  days  that  are  weary, 

Each  word  a  bright  radiance  flings. 
The  hours  of  a  slow  convalescence 

Are  heavy  and  dull  to  me  now; 
So  often  my  heart  grows  impatient, 

And  tired  of  the  days  as  they  flow. 

I  long  for  the  strength  that  has  left  me — 

The  health  which  was  lately  my  own; 
While  others  walk  forth  in  their  gladness, 

I  sit  in  my  chamber  alone. 
And  oh,  how  your  sympathy  cheers  me, 

And  helps  me  to  carry  my  cross; 
'Tis  pleasant  to  know  that  you  missed  me, 

And  counted  my  absence  a  loss. 

We  meet  in  the  realm  of  our  fancies, 

And  mingle  as  spirits  akin; 
'Tis  like  the  sweet  intercourse  given 

To  hearts  free  from  passion  and  sin. 
'Tis  true  there  were  friends  to  surround  me 

With  every  attention  and  care, 
While  tossing  with  pain  and  with  fever, 

Dear  hands  did  no  love-service  spare. 

Yet  still  there  awakens  a  pleasure, 

Which  thrills  this  whole  being  of  mine, 

To  feel  that  regret  for  my  illness, 

Hath  moved  that  sweet  spirit  of  thine. 

Your  words  so  inspiring  imbue  me 
With  hope  and  with  energy  new; 

193 


And  oh,  if  I  could  lead  some  creature 
To  seek  for  the  good  and  the  true 

The  burden  and  heat  of  the  daytime 

I'd  bear  with  a  strength  yet  unknown, 
And  wait  for  the  rest  of  the  evening, 

So  sweet  when  the  seed  are  well  sown 
And  oh,  on  that  beautiful  morning, 

When  washed  in  His  own  precious  blood, 
I  stand  in  His  presence,  what  rapture 

To  hear,  "She  hath  done  what  she  could!" 

August  13th,  1886. 


194 


Why  let  thy  heart  be  grieved?     Time  glid 
ing  onward, 
Hath  yet  a  balm   to   soothe  thy  greatest 

care; 
A  few  short  days,  and  thou  wilt  look  back 

thinking 

These    griefs    were    only    "trifles    light    as 
air." 

Why  let   thy   heart  be   sad?      No   sighs   can 

alter. 
The  things   that   are;    so   teach   thy  heart 

to  yield. 
Let    Fate's   decree   be    thine;    ne'er   dare    to 

struggle, 

And    there    will    be    no    slaughter    on    the 
field. 

Why  be  cast  down?     If  thou  hast  filled  thy 

mission, 

And  tried  to  do  thy  duty  on  life's  road — 
E'en   though    thou    oft    hast    failed — a   hand 

will  guide  thee 

Thro'    these    dark    paths    into    a    bright 
abode. 

Why  care  for  friends  estranged  if  they  have 

wronged  thee? 
Some  day  they'll  know  the  worth  of  thy 

true  heart. 
Time  glides  along  and  smoothes  the  snarls 

and  tangles; 

He  heals  thy  pain  and   stills  the  keenest 
smart. 

'95 


Why  nurse  regrets?     Look  for  the  joy  re 
maining, 

And  all  will  yet  be  well  if  thou  art  brave, 
And  nobly  do  thy  part  today.     Time  brings 

thee 

E'en  at  the  last,   sweet  peace  within  tl  e 
grave. 


are  Cfcer  tfte  jfltttcxt 


The  hours  the  heart  would  cherish, 
And  hold  with  joy  for  aye, 

Are  those  that  soonest  perish, 
Like  dreams  they  fade  away. 

The  golden  moments  vanish, 
Ere  yet  we  learn  their  worth; 

Fate's    ruthless    hand   will   banish, 
The    fairest    things    of    earth. 

The   cold   fierce  winds   of   sorrow, 
Will  come  at  brightest  noon, 

And  ere  the  coming  morrow, 
We  sing  a  sadder  tune. 

The  sweetest  blossoms  wither, 
Ere  Spring's  fair  hours  have  fled 

And  song-birds  coming  hither, 
Will  chant  o'er  violets  dead. 

June,   1883. 

196 


31  note  ttjr 


I  love  the  sea,  the  bright  deep  sea, 
When  the  wild  waves  dance  in  stormy  glee; 
I  love  to  watch  them  come  and  go, 
And  sink  with  a  sigh  to  their  bed  below. 

The  restless  sea,  the  deep  sad  sea, 
How  dear  are  thy  murmuring  tones  to  me, 
1  tune  my  heart  to  thy  low  soft  sigh, 
And  feel  thy  pure  breath  as  the  winds  go 
by. 

The  white  sails  float,  like  a  fairy  boat; 
I  see  them  afar  on  thy  breast  like  a  mote; 
I  hear  thy  pulse  beat  soft  and  deep, 
Like  a  monster  bound  in  gentle  sleep. 

I'd  roam  thy  shore,  forever  more, 
And  hear  thy  chanting  o'er  and  o'er; 
Thy  waves  in  sadness  speak  to  me, 
Yet  still  I  love  thee,  surging  sea. 

Thy  bosom  fair,  the  bracing  air, 
A  dear  and  nameless  charm  do  bear; 
The  music  of  thy  wooing  tone 
Is  sweetest  when  I  am  alone. 

Thy  voice  so  deep,  my  senses  keep, 
When  heart  and  mind  are  wrapt  in  sleep; 
In  dreams  I  hear  thy  breakers  roar, 
And  dash  against  the  lonely  shore. 

Far,  far  away,  at  close  of  day, 
I  love  to  watch  thy  glancing  spray; 
The  stars  gleam  o'er  thy  heaving  breast, 
And  leave  a  bright  and  silver  crest. 

197 


The  quiet  moon,  at  night's  pale  noon, 
Is  listening  to  thy  mournful  tone; 
The  white  gulls  hover  o'er  thy  brow, 
Like  spirits  from  the  land  of  snow. 

I  love  the  sea,  the  bounding  sea, 
The  rippling  waters  bright  and  free; 
Thy  voice's  softest  murmurs  come, 
To  haunt  me  in  my  distant  home. 

June,  1883. 


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71  J0776 


UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA  LIBRARY 


